THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA   •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF 
CHANGE 


BY 
D.  P.  RHODES 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

1909 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,   1909, 

By  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  September,  1909. 


Nortoooti  $«a« 

J.  8.  Cushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


■ 


PREFACE 

I  must  warn  you,  reader,  at  the  outset,  of  certain 
feats  that  are  to  be  perpetrated  and  of  certain  others 
that  are  to  be  omitted  in  the  course  of  these  pages. 
Otherwise,  as  I  have  it  on  excellent  authority,  you 
may  dislike  or  even  despise  me,  and  will  be  free  to 
revile  me  for  having  shamelessly  led  you  into  a 
discussion  such  as  you  had  no  reason  to  look  for 
under  the  cover  of  any  book  bearing  a  conventional 
title. 

The  purpose  of  this  book  is  to  show  that  truth  has 
never  been,  and  cannot  now  be,  demonstrated  by 
man  as  a  whole  or  in  any  part ;  that  all  our  so-called 
truths  are  of  necessity  merely  errors  making  in  the 
direction  of  that  universal  truth  which  can  never  be 
attained  but  once,  and  once  attained,  cannot  en- 
dure. But  —  and  this  is  to  be  well  noted  —  once 
this  truth  is  supplanted  by  error,  this  error  can  have 
no  other  goal  than  universal  truth.  What  we  com- 
monly regard  as  error  will  be  seen  to  have  been  de- 
rived invariably  from  one  of  two  sources:  (1)  that 
which  has  once  been  regarded  as  truth,  and  (2) 
conceptions  of  illusions  impossible  in  fact.  Hence 
between  human  knowledge  and  human  error  there 

V 

803178 


vi  PREFACE 

is  no  fundamental  distinction  but  only  an  apparent 
and  practically  useful  one.  To  this  statement  the 
single  exception  is  embodied  in  the  first  principle 
of  this  philosophy ;  and  it  will  be  seen  that  this  prin- 
ciple itself  is  not  a  complete  or  perfect  truth,  but 
is  dependent  for  its  perfection  upon  the  unknown 
sum  of  its  constituent  parts. 

It  will  be  observed  that  time  is  first  implied  as  a 
condition  of  this  universal  process,  and  is  then  denied 
the  value  which  is  commonly  assigned  to  it.  This 
question  will  form  one  of  the  interesting  considera- 
tions of  the  book;  it  is,  however,  hardly  to  be  ap- 
proached before  a  more  detailed  investigation  has 
supplied  the  necessary  material  and  terms. 

As  with  truth,  so  with  happiness,  which  will  be 
found  to  be  indistinguishable  from  truth.  It  will 
be  shown  that,  did  we  once  attain  happiness,  our 
chief  concern  would  be  lest  it  should  endure,  —  i.e.  if 
we  could  have  any  concerns  when  we  had  attained 
absolute  truth. 

Finally  will  be  considered  the  relation  of  this 
philosophy  to  our  daily  lives  upon  Earth,  both  now 
and  in  a  conceivable  distant  future. 

Its  outcome  should,  I  think,  be  called  a  new, 
rational,  and  workable  optimism.  As  I  have  already 
stated,  the  philosophy  does  not  explain  experience 
in  the  least  or  most  superficial  of  its  phases.  Hence 
you  are  not  to  expect  from  me  particular  demon- 
strations, or  that  I  shall  establish  point  after  par- 


PREFACE  vii 

ticular  point  conclusively  and  expressibly,  for  it 
will  appear  that  I  must  regard  such  separate  dem- 
onstrations and  established  points  as  mere  will- 
o'-the-wisps.  Nevertheless,  I  make  the  highest 
pretensions;  and  if  I  can  but  make  the  philosophy 
intelligible,  you  should  be  able  to  apply  its  results 
practically  in  a  great  variety  of  ways,  without 
difficulty  or  hesitation.  For  I  have  interpreted 
experience  generally  in  the  light  of  the  single  sig- 
nificant principle  which  it  reveals;  and  I  have 
described,  in  terms  by  no  means  too  general,  the 
immediate  future  of  a  race  that  has  attained  to  the 
most  rational  view  of  life  now  possible. 

Any  who  read  with  interest  to  the  end  of  this  book 
will  perhaps  divine  that  the  task  of  making  such 
announcements  as  the  foregoing  was  not  an  alto- 
gether congenial  one.  I  should  prefer  to  have  my 
conclusion  stand  in  its  proper  place,  as  a  conclusion, 
instead  of  intruding  itself  thus  before  the  argument, 
as  if  it  had  been  arrived  at  by  intuition  and  then  set 
up  as  a  thing  to  be  proved.  For,  indeed,  at  the  out- 
set of  the  investigations  here  to  be  recorded,  I  had  no 
opinions  worth  mentioning  either  as  to  the  meaning 
of  the  facts  of  actual  life  or  as  to  the  nature  of  truth 
itself.  I  destroved  all  the  notes  in  which  I  had  re- 
corded  my  arguments  for  or  against  the  theories  of 
some  of  my  notable  predecessors ;  banished  all  books 
from  my  study;     and  with  no  implements  further 


viii  PREFACE 

than  pencil  and  spotless  paper,  a  few  brass  pins,  and 
a  tennis-ball,  I  set  about  enquiring  seriously  into  the 
destiny  of  man.  I  even  tried  to  forget  who  they 
were  that  had  said  anything  on  the  subject  before,  or 
that  there  were  such  things  as  jealousies  and  fashions 
in  philosophy. 

In  this,  of  course,  I  was  attempting  the  impossible. 
One  cannot  speculate  on  the  political  destiny  of  a 
race  or  on  the  material  destiny  of  an  atom  wholly 
without  regard  to  the  individual  investigators 
who  have  supplied  such  data  as  one  may  use. 
Nevertheless,  some  advantages  appeared  to  lie  in  the 
elimination,  as  far  as  possible,  of  personal  and  his- 
torical considerations:  as,  notably,  (1)  conciseness, 
(2)  the  preservation  of  an  attitude  as  little  as  possible 
controversial,  and  (3)  the  implied  denial  that  the 
results  of  any  philosophic  thought  need  be  meas- 
ured by  the  amount  of  approval  they  receive  or  by 
their  immediate  influence  upon  the  lives  of  men,  or 
that  to  achieve  either  individual  success  or  the 
melioration  of  mankind  upon  Earth  is  in  the  least 
necessary  as  a  motive  of  such  thought. 

My  enquiry  complete  and  reduced  to  writing,  I 
was  warned  that  my  exposition  would  be  found 
lacking  in  lucidity  by  the  general  reader  and  philo- 
sophical student  because  in  it  no  attempt  was  made 
to  show  the  relation  of  the  doctrine  to  the  history 
of  opinion.  It  was  deemed  inadvisable  to  "dismiss  " 
—  as  I  was  accused  of  doing  —  with  a  few  para- 


PREFACE  ix 

graphs  so  large  a  subject,  for  example,  as  Con- 
sciousness, leaving  unconsidered  the  numerous  and 
thoughtfully  elaborated  theories  that  have  risen 
around  it. 

Were  I  to  admit  the  probable  truth  of  this  warn- 
ing, the  wisdom  of  heeding  it  would  still  be  quite 
another  matter.  If,  reader,  you  are  accustomed  to 
regard  a  philosophical  essay  as  a  kind  of  intellectual 
exercise  leading  nowhere  in  particular  but  affording 
you  the  opportunity  of  pleasantly  overhauling  and 
dispassionately  comparing  the  appropriate  items 
from  out  your  stores  of  knowledge  —  if,  in  short, 
you  are  above  all  a  liver  and  a  reader,  unalterably 
convinced  of  the  solidity  of  the  facts  of  actual  life, 
you  will  in  any  case  get  nothing  from  my  exposition, 
and  I  need  not  cater  to  you.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
you  are  determined  to  draw  from  your  experience  of 
life  and  books  that  which  is  workable  and  relevant 
to  the  future;  if  you  are  above  all  a  thinker  and 
eager  only  to  build  for  yourself  and  others  a  rational 
basis  for  faith  and  action,  I  think  you  will  agree  with 
me,  after  reading  to  the  end,  that  no  advantage 
could  lie  in  connecting  the  points  of  my  doctrine 
specifically  with  those  of  other  doctrines  unless, 
indeed,  this  were  done  in  a  thoroughgoing  fashion 
such  as  I  at  least  should  be  incapable  of.  For  I 
have,  in  the  course  of  my  constructive  work,  taken 
account  by  implication  of  every  theory  of  life, 
matter,  and  thought  that  is  known  to  me;    and 


x  PREFACE 

though  I  have  occasionally,  and  for  the  sake  of 
brevity,  alluded  to  a  theory  by  its  commonly  ac- 
cepted name,  I  have  generally  thought  it  unnecessary, 
and  on  the  whole  unsuitable,  to  define  my  attitude 
towards  any  theory  more  fully  than  is  implied  in  the 
results  of  this  constructive  work. 

For  example,  I  may  again  mention  my  treatment 
of  the  problem  of  Consciousness.  Some  time  ago 
I  used  to  regard  the  conscious  self  as  a  thing  apart 
and  cover  whole  reams  with  definitions  of  it  and 
speculations  as  to  its  origin.  At  present  my  task 
is  quite  different.  This  whole  book  is,  for  one  thing, 
designed  to  provide  rational  grounds  for  belief  in  a 
certain  general  principle  of  which  one  expression, 
though  by  no  means  the  most  interesting,  is  "  Con- 
sciousness is  not  a  thing  apart  nor  an  essential  prop- 
erty of,  or  resident  in,  anything;  it  is  a  symbol 
popular  in  the  present  age."  If  these  grounds  of 
belief  have  indeed  been  provided,  a  single  sentence 
is  sufficient  to  account  for  the  origin  of  the  term 
Consciousness,  and  for  our  traditional  conception  of 
this  faculty  as  belonging  to  some  things  and  not  to 
others,  and  to  some  things  in  greater  degree  than  to 
others.  This  whole  book,  then,  is  about  Conscious- 
ness, although  the  term  itself  seldom  appears.  But 
if  I  have  failed  to  make  clear  to  you  the  general 
theory,  no  specific  criticisms  from  me  of  other 
theories  of  Consciousness  would  be  worth  your  while. 
From  my  own  point  of  view  they  would  be  sheer 


PREFACE  xi 

redundancies ;  nay  more,  they  would  be  in  the  nature 
of  an  apology  such  as  I  do  not  feel  called  upon  to 
make. 

The  same  would  be  true  of  any  discussion  in  these 
pages  of  specific  doctrines  of  divinity,  world-will, 
or  of  any  other  universal  or  extra-universal  force 
that  has  been  cast  for  the  classic  role  of  final  cause. 

Hence  —  even  though  I  should  admit,  in  the  case 
of  more  special  treatises,  the  expediency  of  a  more 
conventional  method  —  I  cannot  see  that  the  general 
unity  of  my  doctrine  would  be  rendered  more  in- 
telligible by  any  effort  of  mine  to  assign  to  each 
phase  of  it  a  place  in  the  history  of  thought. 

As  an  aid  to  the  presentation  of  this  general  doc- 
trine, I  will  here  define  a  certain  liberty  that  is  to  be 
taken  with  the  terms,  theory  and  practice,  in  the 
ensuing  pages. 

In  traditional  speech  a  practical  idea  is  generally 
understood  as  a  useful  one ;  as  an  idea  which  may, 
with  advantage  to  somebody,  be  immediately  in- 
corporated in  practice;  whilst  a  theoretical  idea, 
whether  presumably  sound  or  unsound,  is  under- 
stood as  one  belonging  primarily  to  the  realm  of 
abstract  speculation  and  not  necessarily  related  to 
practice.  To  this  usage  I  make  no  objection:  it 
possesses  obvious  advantages  of  convenience.  But, 
for  the  purposes  of  this  work,  it  will  be  found  de- 
sirable to  keep  the  teleological  aspect  of  the  terms 


xii  PREFACE 

in  question  generally  uppermost.  By  practice,  then, 
will  be  understood  that  which  must  eventually  be 
replaced  by  new  and  different  practice ;  by  theory, 
that  which  may  conceivably  be  translated  into 
practice.  In  these  pages  theory  shall  cease  to  be 
theory  when  one  of  two  things  happens:  when  it 
shows  itself  finally  incapable  of  translation  into 
practice,  or  when  it  has  actually  been  translated 
into  practice.  By  practice  will  be  understood  human 
practice ;  but  its  relation  to  theory,  as  here  defined, 
will  be  repeated  in  the  relation  to  theory  of  all  other 
cosmic  processes.  A  theory  of  electricity,  for  ex- 
ample, would  be  one  which,  for  anything  we  knew  to 
the  contrary,  might  correctly  describe  electricity; 
and  if  we  ever  came  to  know  that  it  either  could  not 
or  actually  did  describe  electricity,  it  would  cease  to 
be  theory. 

This  verbal  innovation  need  mislead  nobody. 
Nevertheless  it  requires  justification,  —  and  will  be 
justified  in  the  first  chapter,  —  for  it  not  only  im- 
plies the  time-honoured  assumption  that  all  things 
change,  but  raises  the  question,  What  are  these 
things  that  change  ?  Observe,  in  passing,  some  of  its 
implications. 

Something,  not  realised  as  yet  but  indefinitely 
ascertainable,  will  be  the  practice  of  the  future  to 
the  exclusion  of  actual  practice.  That  something 
I  choose  to  call  the  subject  of  theoretical  thought 
or,  more  loosely,  theory. 


PREFACE  xiii 

When  we  speak  of  the  revival  of  an  old  practice, 
we  speak  as  becomes  people  living  in  a  world  which 
may  be  apprehended  by  them  only  in  its  successive 
strata  of  appearances.  Here  is  a  hammer,  and  it  is 
good  to  hammer  with.  Of  this  much  I  seem  sure; 
and  if  I  must  hammer  with  it,  this  much  is  sufficient. 
But  if  I  wish  to  make  a  better  hammer,  I  must  go 
deeper  into  the  matter  and  consider  that  the  useful- 
ness of  the  one  I  now  have  lies  in  the  fact  of  its  having 
a  wooden  handle  and  an  iron  head.  Herein  is  a 
difference  between  wood  and  iron,  and  I  ought  to 
ascertain  the  nature  and  extent  of  this  difference. 
I  can  weigh  them  and  test  their  comparative  tough- 
ness. Along  comes  somebody  who  takes  my  iron 
and  melts  it  and  shows  me  a  lot  of  things  it  may  do 
that  I  had  never  dreamt  of.  He  explains  to  me  the 
standing  of  its  atom  in  the  society  of  atoms,  and  he 
even  tells  me  something  of  the  internal  organisation 
of  this  atom.  At  which  point  he  stops,  because  he 
can  go  no  farther  towards  the  basis  of  iron  in  reality. 
But  he  has  already  taken  me  so  far  that  I  can 
never  again  look  at  a  hammer  in  quite  the  same  light, 
but  must  admit  that  it  is  only  with  reference  to  the 
business  of  hammering  that  a  hammer  may  be  called 
such ;  and  that,  if  the  reality  behind  it  ever  came  to 
be  so  well  understood  that  the  need  to  hammer  no 
longer  existed,  nobody  but  an  antiquary  would  think 
of  calling  it  a  hammer. 

The  case  of  the  revival  of  an  old  practice  is  simi- 


xiv  PREFACE 

lar  and  still  more  obvious.  By  analysis  of  the  new 
practice  we  have  never  found  that  it  was,  in  any 
factor  or  in  all,  equal  to  the  old.  Moreover,  none  of 
its  factors  could  be  equal  to  the  old,  for  they  belong 
to  a  different  period  of  time  and  have  all  been  de- 
termined in  part  by  events  subsequent  to  the  death 
of  the  old  practice.  What  we  think  we  know  of 
either  the  old  or  the  new  practice  is,  however,  very 
little  as  compared  with  what  we  know  we  do  not 
know  of  it.  Our  admitted  ignorance  of  the  events 
that  culminated  respectively  in  the  one  and  the 
other  is  all  but  complete.  Since  the  two  appear- 
ances resulting  thus  from  processes  largely  unknown 
bear  similar  relations  to  the  peculiar  thought  of  the 
age  or  race,  we  find  it  convenient  to  classify  them  as 
"likes."  Sometimes  we  use  the  word  "identical." 
Any  extra-terrestrial  contemporary  of  ours  who 
had  learned  something  of  our  family  history,  yet  was 
unaware  that  different  practices  often  appeared  to  us 
similar,  would  nevertheless  guess  this  to  be  the  case ; 
for  it  would  seem  to  him  probable  that  any  intelli- 
gence in  which  heredity  counted  for  much  would 
continue  for  long  periods  to  respond  to  the  same 
influences  determining  the  character  of  events. 
That  is  to  say,  it  would  be  determined  by  influences 
derived  from  events  whose  local  relation  to  the 
proximately  ancestral  intelligence  was  immediate. 
Ignoring  the  vastly  greater  number  of  influences 
which,  if  known,  would  reveal  the  universal  diversity 


PREFACE  xv 

of  events,  the  possessors  of  this  intelligence  must 
regard  certain  events  as  preeminently  similar. 

The  universal  diversity  implied  in  the  law  of  con- 
tinuous change  is  a  subject  that  will  be  frequently 
recurred  to  in  these  pages.  For  the  moment,  we 
may  be  content  to  conjecture  that  it  would  not  sur- 
prise our  extra-terrestrial  critic  to  learn  that  a 
dozen  of  us  might  walk  through  a  wood  and  agree 
that  it  was  a  very  monotonous  walk,  while  the  dog 
that  accompanied  us  and  came  upon  twenty  different 
scents  found  in  it  a  fascinating  variety;  or,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  the  dog  might  be  greatly  bored  with 
looking  over  his  master's  shoulder  as  he  read.  For 
he  would  suspect  that  the  history  of  men  or  of  dogs 
would  repeat  itself  indefinitely  during  such  period 
as  purely  ancestral  ideas  might  maintain  an  over- 
whelming prominence  in  terrestrial  thought. 

Another  warning:  my  language  at  times  be- 
comes colloquial.  This  is  emphatically  a  serious 
work,  and  dignity  or  gravity  of  attitude  has  no 
place  in  the  execution  of  it.  In  another  place 
(Chap.  IX)  I  shall  try  to  point  out  some  of  the 
dangers  to  the  serious  thinker  inherent  in  any  effort 
to  maintain  the  dignity  of  himself  or  of  his  subject ; 
also  to  account  for  the  esteem  that  is  generally  ac- 
corded to  dignity  of  attitude  in  certain  professions. 

Since  I  have  at  the  outset  been  forced  into  a 
monitory  attitude,  I  should  perhaps  try  to  give  in  a 


xvi  PREFACE 

few  words  some  further  positive  idea  of  the  method 
followed  in  this  philosophy.  Briefly,  then,  its  central 
motif  is  expressed  in  the  two  following  paragraphs. 

Any  doctrine  of  a  final  cause  is  shown  to  be  not 
merely  unsatisfactory  by  reason  of  its  incompleteness 
but  to  be  untenable  even  provisionally,  since  the 
cause,  to  exist  as  such,  could  have  no  contact  with 
our  universe  unless  it  were  identified  with  it  and  so 
ceased  to  be  a  cause.  This  conclusion  is  arrived  at 
logically;  and  logic  itself  is  shown  to  lose  its  com- 
petence as  absolute  truth  is  approached.  Never- 
theless, logic  may  enable  us  to  reject  a  doctrine  which 
logic  has  supplied.  And  the  fact  that  logic  has 
driven  the  vast  majority  of  mankind  to  accept,  in 
one  form  or  another,  the  doctrine  of  a  final  cause  and 
to  cling  to  it  —  not  confidently  but  desperately, 
with  doubts,  differences,  exceptions,  backsliding  — 
through  many  generations  is  shown  to  furnish  an 
additional  reason  for  rejecting  this  doctrine.  If  a 
final  cause  is  both  inconceivable  and  useless  as  a 
hypothesis,  intermediate  causes  are  equally  so; 
thus  causation  becomes  merely  a  convenient  manner 
of  speaking  doomed,  even  as  such,  to  desuetude. 

Bereft  of  causation  as  a  means  of  accounting  for 
the  facts  or  illusions  of  existence  —  which  is  surely 
one  expression  of  the  avowed  aim  of  philosophy — 
we  have  to  look  about  us  and  enquire  what  is  ap- 
parent in  this  existence.  And  there  appear  to  be 
(1)  Things,  such  as  matter  and  ideas,  and  (2)  a 


PREFACE  xvii 

Process  or  Processes.  But  the  same  logic  which 
forced  us  to  eliminate  causation  (which  might  be 
numbered  (3))  convinces  us  that  (1)  and  (2)  cannot 
exist  otherwise  than  identically;  and,  for  present 
suggestiveness  of  terms,  we  give  to  existence  or  the 
universe  the  name  of  Process.  This  process  is 
described  as  consisting  in  the  successive  manifesta- 
tion of  all  possible  differences  or  illusions  until 
perfect  truth  is  attained.  It  is  unconditioned  by 
space  or  time,  which  are  but  two  of  its  illusions ;  and 
when  absolute  truth  gives  place  to  absolute  error, 
the  process  remains  the  same  in  that  fixity  which 
implies  its  complete  diversity. 

Here,  as  I  have  said,  is  one  statement  of  that 
central  motif  of  the  philosophy  which  will,  in  the 
course  of  these  pages,  be  presented  from  a  number  of 
different  points  of  view.  And  in  a  number  of  ways 
will  be  expressed  the  optimism  of  the  philosopher  — 
all  of  them  different  from  the  glowing  phrases  as- 
sociated with  that  obsolescent  mental  bias  which 
commonly  goes  by  the  name  of  optimism. 

The  book  itself  is  divided  as  follows: 

Chapter  I  shows  the  origin  of  the  theory  in  common 
knowledge  as  well  as  some  of  its  general  implications. 

In  Chapter  II  are  reviewed  the  principles  which 
seem  to  underlie  man's  social,  political,  and  intel- 
lectual life  and  moral  ideals.  This  is  done  in  the  form 
of  an  enquiry  into  the  possible  destiny  of  his  various 
activities,  viewed  in  the  light  of  their  past. 


xviii  PREFACE 

In  Chapter  III  is  considered  the  universe  of 
matter  and  ether.  An  elementary  universe  (i.e.  a 
universe  in  which  matter  has  not  been  evolved)  is 
postulated,  as  different  as  possible  from  every  hy- 
pothetical universe  whose  relation  to  human  thought 
is  most  obviously  illusory  according  to  the  principles 
developed  in  this  one  and  the  earlier  chapters.  The 
postulated  universe  is,  in  other  words,  a  "chaotic" 
one  which  may  be  indefinitely  maintained  in  thought 
throughout  its  emergence  from  chaos  to  become  the 
possible  home  of  matter  possessing  apparent  geo- 
metrical form. 

With  these  first  three  chapters  the  philosophy  is 
complete  —  complete,  it  will  be  understood,  in  its 
theoretical  and  generally  practical  aspects.  No 
further  development  of  the  theory  should  be  looked 
for  in  the  remaining  six  chapters,  the  purpose  of 
which  is  to  help  to  define  the  general  trend  of  the 
theory  and  the  probable  consequences  of  its  adoption 
by  mankind. 

In  Chapter  IV,  I  have  endeavoured  to  point  out 
the  true  importance  of  the  problems  of  Reason  and 
Will. 

Chapter  V  shows  the  bearing  of  this  philosophy 
upon  the  special  theory  of  dissolution. 

Chapter  VI  deals  with  the  relation  between  life 
and  death. 

Chapter  VII  treats  of  the  manner  of  life  of  any 
terrestrial  race  who  should  hold  as  rational  a  view 


PREFACE  xix 

of  death  as  is  now  attainable.  In  it  this  philosophy 
is  seen  at  work  amongst  a  hypothetical  race  in  all 
respects  like  the  present  generation  of  mankind, 
save  that  their  intellectual  and  political  leaders  have 
made  this  philosophy  their  own. 

Chapter  VIII  contains  a  series  of  random  obser- 
vations upon  life  as  we  know  it,  and  treats  of  the 
uses  of  rational  pessimism. 

Chapter  IX  contains  some  remarks  on  literary 
style  and  other  questions  of  taste  and  criticism. 

A  word,  finally,  as  to  the  claims  to  be  made  for 
this  philosophy.  Its  basis  has  already  been  pro- 
claimed to  be  the  principle  of  continuous  and  uni- 
versal change;  notice  has  been  given  that  the 
universe  would  be  found  not  as  a  thing  but  as  a 
process.  And  it  is  not  contended  that  this  principle 
of  change,  as  here  set  forth,  is  a  complete  and 
perfect  truth.  Such  a  contention  would  of  course 
amount  to  repudiation  of  the  principle  itself,  as 
would  also  the  contention  that  any  one  of  us  to-day 
may  represent  to  himself  concretely  how  change 
may  take  place  if  there  is  no  thing  to  change. 

What  will  be  claimed  for  this  principle  is  that, 

(1)  It  is  inevitably  derived  from  experience  up  to 
date. 

(2)  It  is  the  most  general  and  abstract  of  all 
principles  and,  as  such,  permits  of  the  utmost  pos- 
sible amount  of  filling  in  of  detail,  at  the  same  time 


xx  PREFACE 

that  it  is  incapable  of  being  undermined  by  new 
knowledge.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  a  fixed  principle  by 
virtue  of  its  being  capable  of  the  utmost  possible 
amount  of  that  modification  which  is  necessary  to 
give  it  meaning. 

(3)  In  the  light  of  its  implications  the  abandon- 
ment of  outworn  practices  and  prepossessions  be- 
comes an  obvious  duty.  Specifically,  it  is  the  only 
weapon  competent  to  overcome  those  influences  in 
human  society  which  admittedly  make  for  the  most 
irrational  conduct,  —  i.e.  it  is  the  only  aid  to  a 
rational  view  of  death  and  suffering. 

We  are  to  begin  with  a  synopsis  of  the  philosophy 
in  its  general  aspect. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Preface 


PAGE 
V 


CHAPTER  I 

Illusion  and  Reality 

The  two  truths  of  highest  probability 1 

Significance  in  experience 5 

Change       Q 

Matter 7 

Substance 8 

Ideas 11 

Time  and  Space 13 

Change  homogeneous 14 

Change  without  antecedent,  beginning,  or  end        ...  15 

Impossible  illusions 15 

^■^fllusion  ancTTeality  .         .     __. u_  __^     .        .         .     ___. 16 

Change  a  fixed  principle 17 

The  order  of  illusions 18 

Change  and  geometry 19 

Recapitulation  . 21 


CHAPTER  II 

The  Knowing 

Egoism  and  altruism 

In  politics  .... 

In  considerations  of  property 

In  the  pursuit  of  fame 

In  vices  of  the  senses 

In  love        .... 

In  all  acts  judged  by  ethical  standards 
Practice  of  an  art  for  its  own  sake ;  the  pursuit  of  knowledge 

xxi 


24 

24 
41 
43 
43 
44 
48 
49 


xxii  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

PACE 

The  test  of  applicability 55 

What  are  egoism  and  altruism  ? 56 

The  knowing 58 

How  the  process  of  gaining  new  experience  appears  to  us  of 

to-day 59 

Destiny  of  the  knowing 61 

The  perfect  knower 62 

May  all  the  knowable  be  known  ? 68 

vsThough4r4 in pefishable    . r— 69 

Cumulative  efficiency  of  thought-  and  matter-effects     .  71 

Evolution  and  heredity 75 

The  ultra-evolutionary  necessity 77 

Time  and  ultra-evolutionary  advantages        ...  80 

Terrestrial  knowledge  evolutionary  in  character  .         .  81 

Impossibility  of  universal  devolution        ....  82 

CHAPTER  III 
The  Fiction  of  a  Universe 

Necessity  of  physical  and  mathematical  symbols    ...  84 

Man  a  "  born  metaphysician  " .85 

The  universe  of  one  dimension .86 

Preliminary  survey  of  the  "  cosmon  " 92 

The  sole  attribute  of  the  "  cosmoids  " 94 

K\  and  the  earliest  motions  of  the  cosmoids  ....  96 

The  reality  behind  the  cosmoid 101 

The  correspondence  between  the  "  real "  and  the  "  apparent " 

cosmoid 109 

Careers  of  the  apparent  cosmoids     ......  113 

The  "  centre-change " 116 

The  centre-change  and  the  surrounding  cosmon      .         .         .  118 

Self-assertiveness  of  the  ultimate  principle       ....  124 

The  geometrical  point       .         .         .         .                  .         .         .  127 

The  illusory  "thing"  postulated  for  the  apprehension  of  motion  129 

Systems  of  supply  for  centre-changes       . '       .         .         .         .  131 

Numbers  and  the  symbolical  cosmon       .....  153 

Mobile  centre-changes  and  their  inertia 157 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS  xxiii 


s  rotation 


PAGE 

158 


161 
165 
166 
167 
170 
173 
174 
175 

177 
185 
189 
194 

201 


Mutual  attraction  of  centre-changes 

The  spatial  necessity  in  the  cosmon 

"  Stable  groups  "... 

The  "primary  rotation"  . 

Relative  mobility  of  stable  groups 

"  Association  "  and  "  dissociation  " 

Relative  stability  of  groups 

Stable  groups  and  certain  attributes  of  matter 

Necessity  of  vibration  of  stable  groups    . 

The  spiral  line  of  motion  of  stable  groups  and  the  straight 

line 

The  geometrical  point  of  view 

How  a  stable  group  would  appear  to  an  evolutionary  being 
Vibration  of  stable  groups        ...... 

Elimination  of  waves  of  vibratory  modifications  :  preliminary 

survey     .... 
Rotary  vibrations  in  response  to  conflicting   inducements; 

changes  of  rotary  position  without  change  of  position 

in  cosmic  rows  ;  revolutions  of  leagues  of  stable  groups 

about  one  another 

Rotation  upon  an  axis      ..... 
The  formation  of  spherical  bodies  in  the  cosmon 
Description  in  one-dimensional  terms  of  the  Earth 

upon  its  axis 

Elimination  of  vibratory  waves  (continued) 

Rotary  vibrations  of  stable  groups  arising  from  reciprocal 

modifications  of  primary  rotations         ....     252 

„,,  ,.,       ,  ,  (  heat,  light,  chemism    .     252 

Ether  waves  and  the  phenomena  of  ■<  .  ? 

(  electricity,  magnetism      253 

One-dimensional  nature  abhors  a  vacuum        ....  254 

A  twofold  guess  as  to  the  significance  of  the  symbols  used 

in  treating  of  the  one-dimension  universe     .         .         .  255 

Implications  of  motions  of  stable  groups  .  256 

Magnitude  in  the  cosmon 262 

Relation  between  the  symbolical  cosmon  and  its  inventor      .  263 

Summary 266 

Terminology      .  268 


209 
218 
241 

242 
248 


xxiv  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  IV 
Reason  and  Will 

PAGE 

The  meaning  of  consciousness 269 

How  a  thing  may  be  aware  of  itself 272 

True  importance  of  the  problems  of  Reason  and  Will     .         .  273 

The  will  to  live 274 

CHAPTER   V 

Devolution 

The  conscientious  carmen 278 

Problematical  future   effect  of  man  upon  the  evolutionary 

process 279 

Annihilation  an  J  afterwards    .......  281 

The  ultra-evolutionary  look-out 284 

The  developing  hand  of  time   . 284 

CHAPTER  VI 
A  Rational  View  of  Death 

Posterity  and  suicide 286 

The  gain  in  gaiety  and  the  loss  in  bliss 288 

If  I  die  this  day,  what  next  ? 289 

Relation  between  the  ultra-evoiutionary  self  and  the  evolu- 
tionary      290 

Emotional  aspect  of  the  case 291 

The  process  of  gathering 293 

The  marriage  of  pain  and  pleasure,  and  the  family  of  events  295 

The  miserable  and  the  rule  of  destiny 296 

"  Those  good  old  days  when  we  were  so  unhappy ; "  sinister 

implications  of  the  word  "  again  "          ....  297 

Evolutionary  benefits  inherent  in  the  word  "  again  "       .         .  299 

Paradise  and  the  kinematograph 300 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


XXV 


CHAPTER  VII 


Immediate  Implications  of  a  Rational  View  of  Death 


The  achievements  of  morality 
A  rational  society 

The  case  of  its  drunkards 

The  case  of  its  amorists 

The  case  of  its  liars   . 

The  case  of  its  brawlers 

The  case  of  its  invalids 
The  rational  society  not  impossible 
The  rational  society  not  millennial  . 
The  rational  society  not  to  be  had  for  the  asking 


PAGE 

301 
304 
305 
314 
319 
319 
320 
321 
328 
332 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  Love  of  Truth 

How  the  love  of  truth  may  be  defined 348 

Our  racial  belief  in  the  supernatural 350 

Instances  of  the  love  of  truth 353 

The  honest  theorist  as  an  everyday  liar  .....  357 

Conservatism  vs.  Radicalism 362 

The  processes  of  nature  and  of  civilisation  alike  irreversible  .  364 

"  Lead  me  to  the  precipice  " 365 

Theory,  superstitions,  and  laboratories 366 

The  snubbing  of  theory 368 

The  menace  of  words 369 

The  wisdom  of  age 369 

The  plum  tree  of  civilisation 371 


CHAPTER   IX 

Style  and  the  Philosophy 

Certainties  and  probabilities  :  a  recapitulation        .         .         .  376 

Long  sentences  .  378 

The  generic  "we" 379 

The  rationale  of  dignity 383 


TABLE   OF  DIAGRAMS 


PAGE 


Figure    1 92 

Figure    2 98 

Figure    3 98 

Figure    4 98 

Figure    5 99 

Figure    6 117 

Figure    7 119 

Figure    8 123 

Figure    9 124 

Figure  10 138 

Figure  11 143 

Figure  12 145 

Figure  13 149 

Figure  14  . 151 

Figure  15 162 

Figure  16 163 

Figure  17 164 

Figure  18 164 

Figure  19 223 


xxvi  1 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

CHAPTER   I 

ILLUSION  AND  REALITY 

From  the  study  of  history,  from  the  review  and 
comparison  of  our  own  individual  experiences,  and 
from  the  results  of  all  special  scientific  and  philo- 
sophic research,  we  draw  two  conclusions  or  truths 
possessing,  of  all  truths,  the  highest  probability. 
In  all  ages  they  have  been  more  or  less  clearly  recog- 
nised and  variously  stated  by  men  of  the  most  widely 
different  tempers  and  environments.  Roughly  speak- 
ing, they  have  acquired  greater  prominence  almost 
continuously  with  the  lapse  of  time;  and  one  of  the 
distinguishing  features  of  the  present  age  is  the  new 
boldness  of  relief  in  which  these  truths  stand  forth 
for  every  curious  person  to  view.  One  of  them,  the 
first  here  to  be  mentioned,  might  be  discussed  at 
indefinite  length,  although  one  of  the  advantages 
of  living  in  the  twentieth  century  is  that  a  brief 
statement  of  this  truth  with  a  few  illustrations  suffice 
to  awaken  the  echoes  in  common  knowledge.  The 
second  truth  is  generally  regarded  as  self-evident 
and  does  not  appear  to  permit  of  much  discussion. 


2  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

(1)  Every  particular  experience  is  illusory. 

This  familiar  object,  the  pencil  I  now  hold  in  my 
hand,  is  not  merely  a  complete  mystery  to  me.  It 
is  not  merely  that  I  am  in  doubt  as  to  which  of  my 
ideas  of  its  form,  the  materials  of  which  it  is  made, 
their  relations  to  one  another,  etc.,  are  true  ones. 
I  know,  if  I  know  anything,  that  form,  materials, 
relation,  etc.,  are  all  entirely  different  from  what 
they  appear  to  me ;  that  the  latest  or  most  intimate 
knowledge  of  wood  and  graphite  in  a  pencil  provides 
for  its  own  abdication  in  favour  of  other  knowledge. 
I  know,  moreover,  that  the  real  form,  materials, 
and  relation  —  supposing  them  to  exist  —  could  not 
appear  to  me  at  all. 

The  chemist  dealing  with  his  old  friend,  the  atom 
of  hydrogen,  is  in  a  similar  case,  for  he  knows  that 
the  familiar  behaviour  of  this  atom  is  merely  the 
particular  illusion  which  corresponds  to  the  compe- 
tence of  his  five  senses  and  many  instruments.  If 
his  senses  and  instruments  were  fundamentally 
different,  —  and  he  knows  that  senses  and  instru- 
ments have  not  remained,  and  cannot  be  expected  to 
remain  the  same,  —  the  behaviour  of  an  atom  of 
hydrogen  would  be  something  that  could  not  be 
spoken  or  thought  of  by  any  but  a  historian. 

The  arithmetician  contemplating  two  pebbles 
knows  that  there  is  far  better  reason  to  regard  the 
universe  as  one  than  the  pebbles  as  two.  All  por- 
tions of  his  pebbles  should,  then,  be  as  intimately 


ILLUSION  AND  REALITY  3 

and  significantly  related  as  all  portions  of  either  one 
of  them.  But  he  had  in  the  pebbles  themselves  the 
best  of  reasons  for  repudiating  the  plural.  For,  know- 
ing the  pebbles  to  be  illusory,  he  must  deny  his  poor 
understanding  any  significance  whatever  if  he  persist 
in  regarding  as  valid  the  two. 

My  conception  of  a  past  event,  a  fact,  whether 
derived  from  memory  or  from  reading  of  it  in  a  book, 
fails  to  equal  anybody  else's  conception  of  the  same 
event  because  I  know  that  my  own  mind  is  just  as 
certainly  not  the  other  person's  mind  as  it  is  not  ex- 
clusively my  own.  And  what  of  the  fact  conceived  ? 
Supposing  it  was  "  John  went  to  London,"  and  that  a 
thousand  people  saw  him  go,  —  it  is  impossible  that 
any  of  these  people  should  have  known  what  this 
John  was  that  went,  nor  if  his  going  was  any  more 
of  a  going  than  if  he  had  remained  where  he  was. 
On  the  contrary,  nothing  can  be  more  certain  than 
that  John  and  his  going  and  his  destination  were 
not  what  they  appeared  to  be  nor  where. 

The  first  conclusion  of  highest  probability  is,  then, 
that  we  not  only  do  not  know  anything  certainly  of 
particular  experiences,  but  that  we  cannot  even  be 
guessing  them  aright. 

When  we  come  to  groups  of  particular  experiences, 
this  high  probability  is  sensibly  reduced.  My  pencil, 
to  be  sure,  and  the  chemist's  atom  of  hydrogen 
constitute  groups  of  experiences;  yet,  the  further 
these  groups  are  extended,  the  more  difficult  does 


4  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

it  become  to  discredit  all  positive  statements  about 
them. 

For  example,  though  I  admit  my  incompetence  to 
define  any  of  the  consequences  of  my  brother  be- 
coming a  thief,  I  assert  my  competence  to  predict 
that,  if  mankind  continues  to  exist  upon  Earth  for  a 
certain  space  under  conditions  tolerably  similar  to 
present  conditions,  certain  things  will  happen  whose 
significance  may  form  the  subject  of  legitimate  posi- 
tive statements. 

Nor  shall  anybody  tell  me  that  I  know  better  than 
to  make  a  positive  statement  about  altruism. 

Mankind,  as  we  regard  it,  is  a  small  thing  in  the 
universe,  and  so  is  altruism.  The  statements  that 
may  safely  be  made  about  either  are  perhaps  of  the 
slenderest  and  sketchiest  nature;  nevertheless,  they 
are  neither  necessarily  negative  nor  certainly  illusory. 

Hence  we  must  conclude  that,  though  every  single 
experience  is  illusory  in  its  particular  aspect,  it 
may  not  be  so  in  some  aspect  which  it  shares  with 
other  experiences. 

Let  us  pass  on  to  the  second  truth  of  highest 
probability. 

(2)  Experience,  illusory  though  it  be  in  every  par- 
ticular, must  nevertheless  possess  some  significance. 

Otherwise  we  could  not  have  drawn  our  first  con- 
clusion of  highest  probability. 

Otherwise  it  could  never  have  occurred  to  us  to 
attack  the  problem  of  existence. 


ILLUSION   AND   REALITY  5 

Not  only  do  I  recognise  the  necessity  of  some 
significance  in  this  pencil  from  my  point  of  view, 
but  I  must  recognise  the  same  necessity  in  any  con- 
siderations, from  my  brother's  point  of  view,  that 
should  impel  him  to  become  a  thief.  For  I  must 
attribute  some  significance  to  my  brother  and  to  the 
possibility  of  becoming  a  thief.  And  in  precisely 
similar  fashion  must  I  attribute  significance  to  the 
careers  of  those  waves  of  the  steaming  sea  that 
preceded  any  creatures  capable  of  perceiving  them 
through  sight  or  touch.  For  they  must  have  had  their 
successive  starting-points  from  which  to  encounter 
new  illusions  just  as  I  and  my  brother  now  have. 

Once  significance  in  experience  is  recognised,  it 
becomes  the  obvious  and  rational  thing  to  do  to  try 
and  discover  wherein  this  significance  lies.  This 
endeavour  cannot,  of  course,  end  in  the  discovery 
of  a  perfect  truth,  since  all  the  illusions  that  go  to 
make  up  experience  are  in  themselves  now  insoluble. 
But  it  should  at  least  result  in  some  kind  of  posi- 
tive statement  representing  the  competence  or  rela- 
tive fulness  of  experience  up  to  date. 

Since  any  positive  statement  of  a  particular  na- 
ture may  be  effectually  contradicted  whilst  it  is  less 
easy  to  contradict  positive  statements  relating  to 
groups  of  illusions,  it  seems  inevitable  that  the 
greatest  significance  will  be  found  in  statements  that 
relate  to  the  greatest  number  of  illusions. 

Let  us  enquire  what  is  thus  positively  significant. 


6  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

v  « 

Change  is  significant,  for  change  is  everywhere. 

It  is  at  least  as  general  an  attribute  of  our  apparent 

universe  as  any  that  can  be  named  or  thought  of. 

Whether  or  not  permanence  is  also  a  general  attribute 

of  this  universe,  we  may  at  least  deny  that  either 

man  or  the  objects  of  his  experience  could  have  any 

existence  in  which  Change  was  not  involved. 

Our  solar  system  could  never  be  wholly  deprived 
of  heat  or  of  motion  as  a  whole,  nor  join  with  other 
systems  to  bring  about  such  a  death  while  matter 
existed  for  such  systems  to  be  made  up  of. 

Nor  could  mind  come  to  rest  in  perfect  calm  with- 
out ceasing  to  be  mind.  A  mind  from  which  such 
forms  of  Change,  at  least,  as  contemplation  and  re- 
flection were  absent  would  be  most  literal  nonsense. 

There  is  Change,  then,  in  motion  and  in  what  we 
call  rest;  Change  in  life,  in  the  granite,  and  the 
deep-embedded  diamond.  Recent  experiments  have 
shown  us  that  every  atom  of  matter  is  itself  the  seat 
of  tremendous  bustle  apart  from  the  impulses  trans- 
mitted to  it  from  other  atoms.  As  for  us  humans, 
the  more  of  obvious  and  superficial  change  we  enjoy 
at  any  time,  the  more  depressing  is  both  the  pros- 
pect and  the  realisation  of  a  less  varied  existence. 
For  any  approach  to  monotony  of  experience  we  must 
draw  on  our  imagination,  since  it  is  not  actually 
to  be  found  in  the  lives  of  our  fellow-men.  The  life 
of  the  indolent  hermit  or  of  the  imprisoned  criminal 
does  not  differ  in  very  many  respects  from  that 


ILLUSION  AND   REALITY  7 

of  the  active  man  of  the  world,  yet  this  difference  is 
often  sufficient  to  account  for  the  derangement  of 
health  or  reason  in  them  who  lead  the  simpler  life. 

In  sum,  —  from  the  particular  illusions  of  our 
experience  we  derive  Change  as  a  general  and  sig- 
nificant principle  of  the  apparent  universe. 

We  have  now  to  enquire  what  else  is  significant. 

Things,  perhaps,  such  as  matter  or  substance,  and 
ideas. 

It  is  obvious  that  these  two  categories,  substance 
and  ideas,  must  at  best  possess  far  less  significance, 
separately  or  taken  together,  than  Change.  For  we 
have  never  been  able  to  agree  that  either  or  both 
of  them  were  everywhere.  In  fact,  most  of  us  re- 
gard them  as  confined  to  very  tiny  portions  of  the 
apparent  universe.  In  the  ether,  we  all  agree,  is 
Change;  but  we  rarely  hear  anybody  say  he  has 
good  reason  to  believe  that  the  ether  is  a  substance 
or  that  there  is  a  substance  in  the  ether.  On  the 
other  hand,  they  are  quite  as  rare  who  pretend  to 
have  discovered  ideas  in  the  rocks  and  waves  of  the 
seashore.  The  significance  of  Things,  then,  appears 
to  be  either  slight  or  altogether  dubious  at  the  out- 
set. 

Nevertheless,  in  most  particular  occurrences  upon 
Earth,  we  do  not  conceive  Change  apart  from 
Things.  The  phenomena  of  electricity  and  mag- 
netism cannot  very  satisfactorily  be  conceived  as 


8  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

related  immediately  and  throughout  to  Things,  yet 
a  Thing  is  generally  implied  in  their  practical  out- 
come. And  in  the  vast  preponderance  of  the  affairs 
of  daily  life,  it  is  a  Thing  —  i.e.  an  idea  or  a  material 
object  —  that  appears  to  change.  Hence  we  should 
test  the  claim  of  Things  to  significance.  Let  us  begin 
with  matter  or  substance. 

Recent  experiments  in  electrical  science  have 
shown  us  that  the  atoms  of  matter  are  both  divisible 
and  disruptible,  and  that  their  constituent  parts 
are  not  material  nor,  so  far  as  known,  suggestive  of 
any  other  kind  of  hypothetical  substance.  An  atom 
is  found  to  consist  of  a  number  of  units  of  negative 
electricity  separated  by  "empty  space"  and  re- 
volving about  a  central  core  or  "ion"  concerning 
which  nothing  positive  is  known.  It  is  clear,  how- 
ever, that  this  "ion"  cannot  itself  be  an  atom.  In 
the  light  of  this  discovery,  the  "elements  "  of  matter 
have  lost  all  meaning  in  any  discussion  of  a  first 
principle,  and  "matter"  itself  has  persisted  solely 
as  a  convenient  manner  of  speaking.  For  nobody 
now  pretends  that  matter  is  the  ultimate  basis  of 
phenomena  or  is  anything  else  than  a  complex  ap- 
pearance involved  in  the  appearances  that  we  call 
phenomena. 

With  matter  bereft  of  that  ultimate  or  basic 
quality  which  was  formerly  assigned  to  it,  we  find  it 
exceedingly  difficult  to  speak  of  "substance"  at  all. 
Hitherto  we  have  always  been  so  impressed  with 


ILLUSION  AND  REALITY  9 

the  tangible,  visible,  ponderable,  impenetrable 
character  of  the  illusions  which  have  constituted 
nearly  the  whole  concern  of  our  lives  throughout 
thousands  of  generations,  that  it  has  seemed  only 
natural  to  assume  some  kind  of  substance  in  places 
where  matter  was  not  but  somehow  ought  to  be. 
Now,  though,  the  assumption  seems  entirely  gra- 
tuitous. 

However,  it  is  impossible  to  forget  that  we  are  the 
present  culmination  of  those  thousands  of  genera- 
tions who  were  too  busy  or  greedy,  too  pious  or  lazy, 
to  invent  electrical  machines.  First  and  foremost 
we  belong  to  our  forefathers.  Hence  we  should  test 
the  claims  of  " substance"  as  if  it  were  the  most 
rational  assumption  possible. 

All  that  can  be  intelligibly  postulated  of  Substance 
is  permanence,  for  it  is  now  out  of  the  question  to 
assign  to  it  any  of  the  other  properties  of  matter. 
What  we  are  to  regard,  then,  as  the  possible  basis  of 
the  ether  (or  perhaps  as  the  ether  itself)  and  of 
electrons  and  eventually  of  matter  itself,  is  a  Per- 
manent Thing  whose  existence  may  contain  innumer- 
able vicissitudes  whilst  its  nature  remains  unaltered. 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  assume  that  there  is  but 
one  kind  of  substance.  In  this  case  the  unit  of  Sub- 
stance will  be 

(1)  the  universe  itself,  or 

(2)  the  least  portion  of  the  universe,  or 

(3)  something  between  the  two. 


10  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

Under  (1),  Substance  could  experience  no  vicis- 
situdes within  itself  nor  indeed  in  any  way  what- 
soever unless  there  were  another  and  heterogeneous 
universe  outside  of  Substance.  In  other  words,  the 
Change,  of  which  we  are  aware  in  all  the  illusions  of 
our  experience,  could  possess  no  significance.  This  is 
contrary  to  our  conclusions  of  highest  probability. 

Under  (2),  the  units  of  Substance  would  be  exactly 
alike  except  in  respect  of  the  vicissitudes  of  their 
careers.  That  is  to  say,  omniscience  itself  could  not 
include  the  power  to  distinguish  them  except  through 
their  changes  of  position.  Such  Substance  would, 
then,  be  dependent  for  its  significance  exclusively 
upon  Change,  and  any  units  that  were  permanent 
in  any  respect  would  be  meaningless  in  every  re- 
spect. 

Under  (3),  the  same  would  always  be  true  if  all 
the  units  were  alike,  and  sometimes  true  if,  within 
different  classes,  all  units  were  alike.  In  the  latter 
case,  units  might  sometimes  lack  permanence,  hence 
could  never  have  possessed  it.  If  all  the  units 
differed  among  themselves,  there  must  either  be 
very  few  units  (which  would  be  a  case  similar  to  (1)), 
or  else  there  must  be  a  very  great  diversity  of  units. 
In  the  latter  case,  the  more  volatile  units  would  flock 
by  themselves,  leaving  the  less  volatile  units  to  their 
own  devices.  The  universe  would  then  be  like  a 
continuously  shaded  and  unchanging  spectrum;  and 
there  could   be  nothing  in  Permanence   competent 


ILLUSION  AND  REALITY  11 

to  upset  this  arrangement  which  would  amount  to 
a  state  of  rest. 

If  there  were  more  than  one  kind  of  Substance, 
there  would  be  more  than  one  kind  of  Permanence 
—  i.e.  more  than  one  universe. 

Neither  matter  nor  substance,  then,  can  possess 
any  fundamental  significance.  Matter  is  a  con- 
venient name  for  certain  complex  appearances  in- 
volved in  the  phenomena  that  constitute  the  bulk 
of  our  particular  experiences.  And  substance  is 
another  name  given  to  the  basis  of  matter  itself  and 
to  those  immaterial  media  through  which  phenomena 
are  apparently  produced. 

Change  alone  is  significant  in  the  iron  of  the 
hammer,  in  the  magnetic  waves  in  the  ether,  and 
in  the  " empty  space"  within  the  atom.  And  when 
I  stated  in  the  preface  that  this  first  principle  of 
the  universe  was  incapable  of  being  undermined 
by  new  knowledge,  I  spoke  legitimately,  as  from 
the  standpoint  of  a  race  who  had  never  heard  of 
Substance  and  could  no  more  think  of  inventing 
it  than  they  could  think  of  inventing  dragons  — 
which,  after  all,  could  not  be  dragons  —  to  explain 
meteoric  phenomena. 

When  we  come  to  seek  a  fundamental  significance 
in  Ideas,  we  encounter  the  same  obstacles  as  in  the 
case  of  Substance. 

In  recognising  that,  of  all  the  testimony  of  our 


12  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

experience,  Change  alone  possessed  universal  sig- 
nificance, we  implied  that  all  the  contents  or  appar- 
ently separate  portions  of  the  universe  were  insepa- 
rably allied  by  this  principle.  We  could  no  longer 
regard  any  particular  manifestation  of  Change  as 
isolated  from  any  other  such  manifestation.  For 
example,  the  relation  of  the  stone  to  the  mountain- 
side down  which  it  is  rolling  is  no  more  significant 
than  its  relation  to  the  nearest  fixed  star,  for  the  star 
is  just  as  essential  a  condition  of  its  change  of  ap- 
parent position  as  is  the  mountain. 

Ideas,  then,  must  be  similarly  interdependent 
and  incapable  of  being  isolated  from  one  another  or 
from  the  most  remote  appearances  of  the  Substance- 
world.  jpEach  Idea  exists  solely  by  virtue  of  the 
change  in  its  relation  to  all  other  Ideas  and  Sub- 
stance-appearances. The  Idea  of  a  pebble  is  con- 
ditioned by  all  other  pebbles  and  Ideas  of  them. 
An  Idea  of  altruism  is  conditioned  by  the  equally 
general  Ideas  of  egoism,  humanity,  love,  etc.,  all 
of  which  are  continuously  changing.  The  existing 
Idea  of  Change  is  conditioned  by  the  equally  gen- 
eral Idea  of  the  Impossible,  and  is  made  up  of  the 
invariably  unexploited  (i.e.  lacking  complete  expe- 
rience) factors  in  particular  Ideas  and  Subtance- 
appearances.  JjfAn  Idea  cannot  endure ;  it  is  continu- 
ously being  supplanted.  No  two  persons  have  ever 
had  the  same  Idea  of  altruism,  although  either  might 
perhaps  have  made  a  justifiable  positive  statement 


ILLUSION  AND  REALITY  13 

about  altruism  to  which  the  other  could  agree  from 
his  own  equally  justifiable  point  of  view  —  the  agree- 
ment resulting  in  an  apparent  practical  advantage  to 
somebody.  Nor  has  any  one  person  had  the  same 
Idea  in  two  different  moments  of  time,  even  the  Idea 
of  Change  being  conditioned  by  successive  particular 
experiences. 

Ideas,  in  sum,  are  not  Things  Changing  but  Change. 
And  the  same  is,  of  course,  true  of  conscious  selves  and 
of  any  other  form  of  activity  involving  body-matter, 
brain-matter,  substance-appearances,  and  ideas. 

Even  without  the  aid  of  formal  logic,  the  choice 
between  Change  and  Things  was  an  easy  one;  for 
we  cannot  get  on  at  all  without  Change,  whereas 
we  have  never  had  any  good  reason  to  believe  in 
Things  in  General  or  in  any  one  Thing  in  Particular, 
so  we  can  give  them  up  without  a  qualm. 

Consulting  again  our  illusory  experience,  do  we 
find  anything  else  possessing  general  significance? 

There  are  Time  and  Space,  to  be  sure ;  but,  now  that 
we  have  got  rid  of  Things,  we  identify  them  unhesi- 
tatingly with  one  another  and  with  Change.  For 
apart  from  the  Change  manifested  in  vision,  touch, 
or  any  reciprocal  action,  as  between  the  rocks  and 
waves  of  the  seashore,  they  could  have  no  existence. 

Is  there  anything  else  in  our  experience  that  ap- 
pears to  possess  some  general  significance  ? 

There  is  nothing. 


14  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

We  have  now  to  discuss  Change  itself  and  its  rela- 
tion as  a  whole  to  the  impenetrable  particular  illu- 
sions of  human  and  other  experience. 

In  the  first  place,  there  cannot  be  more  than  one 
kind  of  change ;  i.e.  the  change  manifested  in  a  mag- 
netic wave  or  in  the  wearing  down  of  a  river's  bed 
cannot  be  different  from  the  change  manifested  in 
a  politician's  reflections  on  the  events  of  the  day. 
For  if  change  here  differed  from  change  because  of 
the  difference  in  its  manifestations,  there  must  be 
as  many  different  kinds  of  change  as  there  are  mani- 
festations of  it.  In  other  words,  change  would  then 
exist  as  a  mass  of  unrelated  particulars  and  could 
never  have  suggested  itself  as  possessing  any  general 
significance.  But  if  change  here  differed  from  change 
because  its  seats,  the  ether,  the  river-bed,  and  the 
mind  of  the  politician,  belong  to  two  or  to  three 
essentially  different  classes  of  things,  it  is  obvious 
that  Change  is  not  in  question  but  Things  Changing, 
which  we  have  seen  to  be  impossible.  It  is,  then, 
inevitable  that  qualitative  differences  in  experi- 
ence {i.e.  in  the  manifestations  of  Change)  consist  in 
what  we  call  "  quantitative  "  differences  in  ultimate 
Change  itself ;  or,  to  use  a  more  suitable  term,  they 
consist  in  differences  of  position  in  the  fixed  order 
of  Change.  One  purpose  of  the  universe  of  one 
dimension  postulated  in  Chapter  III  is  to  show  how 
differences  in  experience  may  be  thus  quantitatively 
conceived. 


ILLUSION   AND   REALITY  15 

Moreover,  Change  cannot  be  derived  from  some- 
thing else,  for  the  act  of  derivation  would  merge 
its  antecedent  with  itself.  One  illusion  may  follow 
upon  others;  but  Change  itself  could  not,  say,  be 
created  by  something  immutable,  for  the  immutable 
thing  would  become  Change  in  the  act  of  creation. 
Nor,  for  the  same  reason,  could  there  ever  be  any 
interaction  between  the  two. 

Similarly,  Change  could  have  no  kind  of  beginning 
or  end.  If  it  began,  it  must  already  have  been 
Change  by  virtue  of  the  beginning;  if  it  ended,  the 
ending  would  show  that  it  still  existed. 

Furthermore,  Change  does  not  manifest  itself  in 
the  impossible.  For  example,  it  may,  in  this  year 
1908  a.d.  upon  Earth,  manifest  itself  in  my  illusory 
idea  of  a  three-footed  hen ;  but  it  may  not  manifest 
itself  in  an  illusory  three-footed  hen  which,  like  the 
illusory  two-footed  hens,  lays  illusory  eggs  with 
which  illusory  hunger  may  be  appeased.  For  we 
take  account  of  illusions  without  knowing  what  they 
are  or  what  we  are  that  take  such  account ;  other- 
wise we  should  not  be  concerned  with  this  problem 
of  existence.  And  at  the  end  of  next  December 
we  can  be  certain  that  amongst  all  the  illusory  hens 
of  the  year  there  has  not  been  a  single  one  with  three 
feet.  Change,  then,  must  manifest  itself  in  all  pos- 
sible illusions,  there  being  a  reason  indefinitely  com- 
prehensible in  Change  itself  for  the  non-manifesta- 
tion of  such  as  three-footed  hens.     Of  this  anon. 


16  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

But  meanwhile,  what  do  we  mean  by  illusion  ? 

Surely,  that  which  is  not  reality. 

But  there  is  Change  in  all  our  illusions,  and  we 
have  seen  that  Change  alone  is  significant  in  exist- 
ence.    Is  not  reality  then  significant  ? 

Reality  is  indeed  significant,  as  the  limit  of  exist- 
ence. When  all  illusions  have  been  manifested, 
reality  will  then  be  significant  as  the  limit  of  all  the 
possible,  do-able,  changeable.  It  is  obvious  that  it 
could  not  remain  thus  significant:  all  possible  illu- 
sions must  then  begin,  else  there  could  be  no  limit 
to  them.  And  if  there  were  no  limit  to  illusions, 
there  could  be  no  impossible  illusions.  That  is  to 
say,  we  should  be  confronted  with  the  possibility 
of  a  three-footed  hen,  in  every  respect  a  hen,  but 
with  three  feet;  also  with  the  possibility  of  pure- 
white  blackness.  Life  could  have  no  value,  would 
be  out  of  the  question,  on  such  conditions.  Finding 
ourselves  living  and  concerned  with  the  problem 
of  existence,  we  unhesitatingly  repudiate  a  limitless 
universe. 

During  the  life  of  our  race  upon  Earth  we  have 
seldom  been  willing  to  regard  reality  as  a  limit. 
Our  habitual  impulse  has  been  to  gaze  out  into  the 
heavens  and  dig  down  into  the  earth  in  the  hope  of 
seizing  hold  of  it  somehow  and  then  preserving  it 
as  a  priceless  possession.  This  rather  emotional  im- 
pulse has  been  as  fruitful  as  it  was  inevitable.  And 
we  are  now  in  a  position  where,  by  giving  our  more 


ILLUSION  AND  REALITY  17 

rational  faculties  free  play,  we  may  set  emotion  on 
edge  with  dread  lest  the  ancient  notion  of  reality  be 
vindicated.  For  nothing  can  be  more  dismal  or 
stultifying  than  the  implications  of  any  doctrine 
which  represents  our  life  of  ceaseless  change  as  rooted 
in  an  immovable  bed  of  fact.  These  implications 
will  be  reviewed  at  some  length  in  the  next  chapter. 

To  consider,  now,  the  conclusion  at  which  we  have 
arrived,  to  wit,  Reality  =  that  which  is  =  that 
which  may  not  become  =  the  impossible: 

Is  this  conclusion  to  be  treated  as  a  truth  of  the 
highest  possible  value  ? 

For  any  practical  purpose  whatsoever  it  is  of  course 
desirable  to  treat  it  thus.  Its  own  implications, 
however,  render  such  a  treatment  fundamentally 
irrelevant.  More  appropriately  may  it  be  regarded 
as  a  statement  made  under  compulsion.  It  is  one 
form  of  declaration  of  that  first  principle  of  existence 
the  recognition  of  which  is  imposed  upon  all  who  put 
to  themselves  any  short  series  of  obvious  questions 
such  as  those  put  in  this  chapter.  Moreover,  ex- 
perience up  to  date  shows  us  that  no  conflicting 
statement  will  ever  be  possible.  But  its  value  is 
necessarily  partial,  incomplete,  and  we  have  no  rea- 
son to  rate  this  value  either  high  or  low.  For  new 
illusions  still  remain  to  be  manifested,  and  we  know 
not  what  they  may  be,  what  are  the  possible  ones. 
Change,  in  other  words,  is  not  yet  defined. 

Hence  the  principle  of  continuous  and  universal 


18  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

change,  as  here  set  forth,  cannot  be  a  perfect  truth, 
but  is  simply  an  abstract  statement  inevitably 
derived  from  the  testimony  of  the  illusions  of  com- 
mon experience  which  are  unanimous  on  this  point 
and  on  no  other.  It  is  a  fixed  principle  by  virtue 
of  its  being  capable  of  the  utmost  possible  amount 
of  such  modification  as  may  give  it  meaning. 

Here  we  have  seen  logic  forcing  us  to  deny  its 
own  fundamental  competence  —  which  is  the  role  of 
all  other  illusions  as  well. 

In  the  matter  of  values,  the  case  of  all  illusions  is 
the  same.  Whether  it  be  a  thought,  an  animal,  or 
a  mineral,  any  given  illusion  must  be  destitute  of 
specific  value.  If  the  last  illusion  be  termed  Omnis- 
cience, or  the  sum  of  all  illusions,  it  could  have  no 
standard  for  assigning  different  values  to  earlier 
illusions,  since  each  is  a  necessary  phase  of  the  pro- 
cess so  summed  up.  Man  could  be  no  more  conge- 
nial or  indispensable  to  Omniscience  than  Fish.  And 
Omniscience,  to  be  possible,  must  straightway  be- 
come what  we  may  term  the  first  illusion  or  Chaos. 
Otherwise  Change  could  not  be  defined  as  all  possible 
illusions,  and  we  should  now  have  no  heads  to  be 
bothered  with  it. 

Illusions,  then,  have  order,  not  values  —  which, 
indeed,  was  to  be  stipulated  in  the  first  place  of  the 
manifestations  of  uniform  change.  And  we  can  say 
a  good  deal  about  the  order  of  illusions  past  and 
future:    for  one  thing,  that  they  must  be  entirely 


ILLUSION  AND   REALITY  19 

interdependent  and  that  each  illusion  of  the  present 
day  sums  up  all  earlier  ones  in  a  manner  which  is 
inscrutable  because  of  the  imperfection  of  their 
relations  —  because,  that  is,  of  the  absence  of  the 
remaining  possible  illusions  which  alone  could  estab- 
lish the  particular  bearing  of  those  already  mani- 
fested. Only  of  Change,  the  general  principle,  is 
the  bearing  obvious,  because  illusions  are  necessarily 
unanimous  in  proclaiming  it.  We  see,  furthermore, 
that  the  order  of  illusions  is  not  reversible ;  that  man, 
for  example,  could  not  grow  from  the  grave  back- 
ward to  the  mother's  breast.  Such  a  development 
could  not  be  human ;  and  it  could  be  nothing  if  not 
human,  for  the  impossibility  thus  conceived  com- 
prises every  incident  of  a  life  peculiarly  human. 

The  order  of  illusions,  general  and  particular,  past 
and  future,  will  form  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
subject-matter  of  this  book. 

The  principle  of  continuous  and  universal  change 
has  here  been  treated  as  if  derived  from  the  two 
conclusions  of  highest  probability  that  are  drawn 
from  experience.  It  may  quite  as  well  be  regarded 
as  determining  those  two  conclusions,  thus 


Change 


Particular  experience  illusory. 
Significance  in  all  experience. 


Certain  of  its  special  implications  have  already 
been  mentioned.  A  typical  case,  finally,  is  the  fol- 
lowing. 


20  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

It  is  undoubtedly  useful  to  prove  that  the  sum 
of  the  angles  of  a  triangle  is  equal  to  two  right 
angles,  when  you  are  living  in  a  world  which  you  can 
as  yet  understand  only  through  its  superficial  mani- 
festations of  matter,  straight  lines,  etc.,  and  when 
daily  needs  require  you  to  assume  that  things  equal 
to  the  same  thing  are  equal  to  each  other.  When, 
however,  repeated  scrutinies  of  the  data  of  such  a 
life  force  you  to  admit  that  its  matter  and  straight 
lines  must  eventually,  like  all  other  appearances, 
evolve  themselves  first  into  the  category  of  obsolete 
symbols  and  afterwards  into  that  of  future  poten- 
tialities, and  when  equality  comes  home  to  you  in  its 
true  character  of  practical  substitute  for  that  know- 
ledge of  universal  diversity  which  is  not  immediately 
available,  you  at  once  perceive  the  temporal  char- 
acter of  the  properties  of  angles.  Unless,  that  is, 
your  business  in  life  happens  to  be  with  angles. 
In  that  case,  it  will  be  hardly  surprising  if,  before 
accepting  the  results  of  the  general  scrutiny  of  phe- 
nomena, you  redouble  your  efforts  to  demonstrate  the 
value  of  angles  as  a  measure  of  these  phenomena. 

It  is  useful  to  prove  that  a  jug  will  hold  water, 
provided  there  is  water  to  be  carried.  If  there  is 
no  water,  of  what  use  is  the  jug  and  how  is  the  proof 
possible  ?  Yet  the  maker  of  jugs  may  think  of  the 
failing  market  for  them  and  of  the  misery  of  a  jugless 
humanity  before  he  asks  himself  how  he  is  to  quench 
his  own  thirst. 


ILLUSION  AND  REALITY  21 

Sweet  reader,  let  me  recapitulate.  For  I  am  con- 
vinced that  a  fundamental  principle,  if  it  be  in  any 
respect  novel,  should  be  stated  and  restated  up  to 
the  last  limit  of  endurance. 

The  central  point  now  at  issue  in  all  philosophy 
concerns  "to  be"  and  "to  know."  If  you  are  a 
critical  philosopher  with  a  qualitative  point  of  view 
and  forbid  me  to  take  liberties  with  these  two  verbs, 
I  must  reply  that  I  have  explained  and  justified  the 
license.  I  must  use  these  verbs;  no  others  are 
available ;  and  I  must  use  them  in  an  unusual  sense. 
Here  is  the  whole  matter  in  a  nutshell : 

Throughout  long  centuries  we  have  been  "know- 
ing," as  we  say.  And  we  must  all  assume  that  this 
knowledge  possesses  some  significance.  Eventually 
it  leads  us  to  the  conviction  that  every  particular 
contained  in  it  is  contradictory  of,  or  finally  incom- 
patible with,  some  other  particular,  except  only  in 
respect  of  Change,  wherein  all  particulars  agree. 
This  agreement  means  that  "being"  is  not  to  be 
sought  after,  is  impossible;  and  that  "knowing," 
even  unto  Omniscience,  is  purely  a  matter  of  Illusion 
or  Change. 

Change,  then,  is  "known"  in  contrast  with  the 
Impossible  or  Real,  and  its  content  is  the  illusions  of 
everyday  existence.  I  gain  to-day  a  better  con- 
ception (one  obviously  conflicting  with  less  of  the 
testimony  of  other  experience)  of  a  certain  event 
than  my  brother  was  able  to  gain  yesterday.     Om- 


22  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

niscience  will  fill  in  all  the  illusory  detail  to  which  I 
am  blind  by  reason  of  my  position  in  the  fixed  order 
of  Change.  Omniscience  is  satisfied  in  the  posses- 
sion of  all  illusions,  having  no  jurisdiction  in  the 
realm  of  impossibilities.  Omniscience  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  three-footed  hens,  but  will  ex- 
plain my  present  conception  of  such  a  hen. 

Meanwhile  we  of  to-day,  as  well  as  all  the  material 
objects  of  our  world,  embody  the  totality  of  earlier 
experience,  for  the  principle  of  Change  implies  the 
unity  of  the  universe,  denies  the  possibility  of  Noth- 
ing, and  stipulates  for  the  thorough  interaction  of 
what  we  call  matter  and  mind.  The  highest  form 
of  actual  reason  is,  then,  a  summation  of  experience ; 
and  the  most  highly  conscious* human  being  is  of 
necessity  a  local  and  imperfect  product  of  Change. 
He  embodies  all  the  elements  that  are  making  for 
the  perfect  summation  of  universal  experience;  yet 
he  may  feel  hunger,  anger,  hatred,  —  may  habitually 
regard  an  atom  of  hydrogen  or  an  ethical  principle 
as  a  fixed  quantity,  —  because  of  the  imperfect  rela- 
tions represented  by  his  position  in  the  fixed  order 
of  illusions.     Change  is  not  yet  defined. 

Here  is  the  necessity  of  our  situation.  Its  desir- 
ability will  be  considered  (amongst  other  points)  in 
the  next  chapter;  and  in  the  third  chapter  will  be 
considered  the  question,  How  such  a  situation,  with 
its  apparent  qualitative  differences,  might  arise. 
In  neither  of  the  next  two  chapters  will  this  first 


ILLUSION  AND  REALITY  23 

chapter  be  taken  for  granted,  nor  will  reference  be 
made  to  it.  This  means  that  continuous  change 
will  not  be  assumed  as  the  one  principle  of  the  uni- 
verse, although  the  further  discussion  of  this  prin- 
ciple will  be  abridged  in  consequence  of  this  chapter. 

In  Chapter  II,  the  conceivable  destinies  of  human 
activities  are  considered  in  the  light  of  their  past. 

In  Chapter  III,  an  elementary  or  "chaotic  "  uni- 
verse of  substance  is  postulated,  and  the  conceivable 
happenings  in  this  universe  are  reviewed,  the  pos- 
sibility of  substance  itself  being  again  considered. 

The  remaining  chapters  are  in  the  nature  of  cor- 
ollaries, inferences  for  practical  purposes,  etc.,  the 
subject-matter  being  still  more  specific,  as  explained 
in  the  preface. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   KNOWING 

The  practical  politician,  if  he  be  a  tolerably  serious 
and  well-meaning  man,  often  complains  that  he  is 
unable,  while  in  office  or  out,  to  originate  or  sup- 
port such  measures  for  the  common  weal  as  he  be- 
lieves to  carry  a  promise  of  enduring  efficacy,  —  that 
he  is  sometimes  unable  even  to  advocate  a  measure  of 
temporary  expediency,  —  since,  if  he  did  so,  his 
subsequent  political  usefulness  would  probably  be 
impaired  if  not  wholly  destroyed.  The  principal  in- 
fluences to  some  one  or  more  of  which  he  may  on 
any  given  occasion  assign  this  embarrassment  of  his 
effort  to  do  what  he  believes  to  be  right  are  well 
known.  They  are  called  the  ignorant  selfishness  of 
those  whom  he  represents  and  leads ;  the  exigencies 
of  party  dominance;  the  demands  of  patriotism; 
the  demands  of  his  own  personal  ambition. 

That  such  uncompromising  politicians  as  have 
attempted  unswervingly  to  combat  these  influences 
have  failed  of  their  highest  aim  is  evidenced  by  the 
fact  that  the  influences  still  exist ;  whether  they  have 
been  mitigated  in  some  degree  is  a  question  under 
perennial  discussion.     To  measure  the  extent  and 

24 


THE   KNOWING  25 

driving  power  of  any  one  of  them  in  successive  gen- 
erations is  a  difficult,  and  to  many  historians  a  fasci- 
nating, task.  But  at  the  end  of  the  history  account 
must  still  be  taken  of  the  conflict  between,  on  the 
one  hand,  the  egoism  of  the  ignorant,  the  egoism 
of  the  more  enlightened,  the  egoism  of  party  or  class, 
race  or  nation,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  a  certain  op- 
posite or  altruistic  impulse.  And  in  spite  of  any 
real  or  fancied  progress  towards  an  adjustment 
between  these  two  contending  influences,  politics 
are  still  so  far  from  the  point  to  which  fleet-footed 
theory  would  bring  them  that  many  a  serious  poli- 
tician has  been  forced  to  abandon  his  chosen  voca- 
tion. Probably  no  man  has  ever  said,  "In  politics 
I  have  found  a  career  in  which  I  am  comparatively 
free  to  do  what  I  believe  to  be  right ; "  whilst  the  con- 
trary is  so  often  repeated  as  to  suggest  the  possibility 
that,  whatever  improvement  may  have  been  made 
in  practice  itself,  the  gap  between  theory  and  prac- 
tice is  still  as  wide  as  ever  it  was. 

However  this  may  be,  what  course  is  open  to  the 
practical  politician  if  his  thoughts  incline  toward 
reform?  Masses  of  electors,  he  knows,  are  so  ig- 
norant and  racially  backward  that  the  work  of  ad- 
vancing them  by  education  to  a  par  with  their  more 
enlightened  fellows  might  conceivably  be  interrupted 
by  the  end  of  the  world ;  personal  ambition  and  party 
spirit  cannot  be  legislated  away;  and  patriotism 
cannot  be  purged  of  selfishness  by  a  far-sighted 


26  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

diplomacy.  Sooner  or  later,  probably,  he  will  be 
reminded  that  the  most  successful  politicians,  and 
by  no  means  necessarily  the  least  liberal  or  progres- 
sive, have  refused  to  gaze  steadily  into  the  great  gulf 
that  lies  between  theory  and  practice  for  fear  of 
yielding  giddily  to  the  impulse  to  fling  themselves 
in,  as  if  they  would  close  it  up  with  their  dead  bodies. 
They  have  instead  looked  carefully  to  their  own  foot- 
hold from  whence,  keeping  ever  in  view  the  dim  out- 
line opposite,  they  have  built  painfully,  now  staying 
as  best  they  might  the  hand  of  the  destroyer,  now 
lowering  block  upon  block  into  the  unmeasured 
void.  And  for  knowledge  of  what  they  may  owe 
in  shortened  labour  to  the  bones  of  them  who  over- 
gazed  their  prudence,  they  must  look  to  the  day, 
if  that  day  is  indeed  to  come,  when  all  may  pass 
safely  over,  and  the  bridge  itself  is  flooded  with  a 
light  more  powerful  than  science  or  the  heavens  can 
now  command. 

Such  admittedly  is  the  career  of  politics  that  it 
holds  out  no  promise  of  success  to  him  who  persists 
in  ranting  at  its  abuses  or  brooding  on  its  futility. 
The  active  politician  may  never  lose  sight  of  the 
exigencies  of  actual  practice. 

The  case  of  the  spectator  and  avowed  theorist  is 
somewhat  different.  This  one,  secure  in  his  aerial 
flight,  may  look  down  into  the  political  gulf  with 
a  feeling  of  comparative  tranquillity,  and  may  con- 
fine his  attention  to  the  task  of  discovering,  if  pos- 


THE   KNOWING  27 

sible,  what  is  its  meaning,  its  extent,  its  origin,  its 
destiny.  Of  these  four  lines  of  investigation,  inter- 
twined though  they  necessarily  are,  the  one  possess- 
ing the  highest  intrinsic  interest  is  that  one  which 
belongs  to  the  future.  Moreover,  the  only  means  of 
following  it  is  through  the  past  and  what  we  com- 
monly regard  as  the  present;  hence  any  conclusion 
arrived  at  as  to  the  future  of  politics  would  likewise 
appertain  to  the  significance  of  its  actual  conflicts. 
Let  us  begin,  then,  as  spectators  and  avowed  theo- 
rists, by  enquiring  what  future  development  or  devel- 
opments of  politics  are  conceivable. 

We  have  seen  that  the  principal  cause  of  embarrass- 
ment to  the  active  politician  is  the  conflict  between 
egoistical  and  altruistical  impulses  in  both  himself 
and  others.  This  is  not  to  say  that  other  influences 
outside  of  politics,  such  as  ill  health  or  personal  en- 
mities, may  not  be  quite  as  obstructive  of  his  efforts ; 
nor  that  any  or  all  of  the  observed  forms  of  egoism 
and  altruism  may  not,  on  the  whole,  be  eminently 
desirable.  Whether  they  are  desirable  or  not  is 
primarily  a  matter  of  no  importance  in  this  enquiry, 
the  object  of  which  is  to  discover  what  development 
of  them  is  possible  in  the  future,  if  indeed  any  de- 
velopment is  possible.  Similarly  no  account  will 
be  taken  in  the  present  enquiry  of  the  effect  upon 
politics  of  ill  health,  personal  enmities,  climate,  earth- 
quakes, or  any  other  outside  influences.  Politics, 
it  is  true,  have  to  do  with  all  human  activities 


28  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

and  conditions  of  life :  with  commerce,  agriculture, 
health,  personal  enmities,  even  earthquakes.  But 
our  immediate  concern  is  with  the  motives  that 
enable  politics  to  deal  with  any  matter  in  any  man- 
ner whatsoever.  And  these  would  seem  to  be 
intelligibly  summarised  in  the  terms  egoism  and 
an  opposing  altruism.  In  proceeding  to  indicate 
the  conceivable  developments  of  politics  we  will, 
then,  assume  all  conditions  outside  of  politics  to 
remain  passive.  This  is  to  say,  the  terrestrial  cli- 
mate shall  continue  about  as  it  now  is,  whilst  com- 
merce, agriculture,  the  public  health,  personal  en- 
mities, etc.,  shall  in  no  way  change  save  in  direct 
response  to  the  action  of  politics.  The  conceivable 
effects  upon  politics  of  original  developments  in  the 
several  departments  of  human  activity  with  which 
they  deal,  as  well  as  in  the  processes  of  nature,  will 
form  the  subjects  of  enquiries  to  follow. 

Under  the  assumed  conditions  the  destiny  of  poli- 
tics will  obviously  be  one  of  three. 

(1)  At  some  period,  either  in  the  past  or  in  the 
future,  altruism  in  politics  will  have  reached  the 
point  of  its  greatest  influence,  and  from  that  time 
onward  will  have  gradually  yielded  to  egoism  until 
at  some  point  in  the  future  it  will  become  extinct, 
leaving  politics  perfect  in  their  egoism. 

(2)  At  some  period,  either  past  or  future,  egoism 
will  have  reached  the  point  of  its  greatest  influence, 
and   from  that  time   onward  will  have  gradually 


THE   KNOWING  29 

yielded  to  altruism  until  at  some  point  in  the  future 
it  will  become  extinct,  leaving  politics  perfect  in 
their  altruism. 

(3)  At  some  period,  either  past  or  future,  altruism 
will  have  reached  the  point  of  its  greatest  influence ; 
and  at  some  other  period,  past  or  future,  egoism 
will  have  reached  the  point  of  its  greatest  influence. 
Neither  will  ever  have  wholly  exterminated  the  other, 
and  politics  will  oscillate  indefinitely  between  the 
two  extremes. 

In  the  course  of  our  investigation  these  three 
hypotheses  will  be  referred  to  as  respectively  (1), 
(2),  and  (3). 

If  the  destiny  of  politics  is  correctly  described  in 
(1),  it  is  clear  that  their  control  will  eventually 
devolve  upon  a  single  individual  who  will  prescribe 
for  all  other  men  in  every  detail  of  those  multifarious 
activities  with  which  politics  have  to  do.  An  in- 
termediate stage  would  be  that  in  which  each  man, 
politically,  should  work  solely  for  his  own  interest 
so  far  as  is  compatible  with  his  consistent  absten- 
tion from  helping  another  at  the  same  time.  The 
more  efficient  workers  would  gradually  bring  about 
the  political  death  of  the  less  efficient  until  the  most 
efficient  one  was  left  alone  in  politics.  Such  a  state 
of  society,  though  perhaps  failing  to  realise  perfect 
egoism  in  all  respects,  would  nevertheless  realise 
it  in  respect  of  politics.  It  is,  moreover,  conceivable 
and,  so  far  as  it  goes,  negatives  nothing  that  we 


30  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

know.  After  enquiring  if  there  are  any  conceivable 
realisations  of  perfect  egoism  in  other  activities  we 
will  return  to  the  instance  of  it  in  politics  and  try 
to  discover  what  further  development  of  it,  if  any, 
is  possible. 

If  the  destiny  of  politics  is  correctly  described  in 
(2),  it  is  clear  that  their  control  will  eventually 
devolve  upon  the  mass  of  mankind  taken  together, 
of  which  every  individual  will  have  exactly  the  same 
degree  of  influence  and  exactly  the  same  political 
opinions  as  every  other.  Such  a  state  of  society, 
though  perhaps  failing  to  realise  perfect  altruism  in 
all  respects,  would  nevertheless  realise  it  in  respect 
of  politics.  Like  (1),  it  is  conceivable  and,  so  far  as 
it  goes,  negatives  nothing  we  know.  After  consider- 
ing any  other  conceivable  realisations  of  perfect  altru- 
ism we  will  return  to  this  one  and  trv  to  discover 
what  further  development  of  it,  if  any,  is  possible. 

Under  (3),  we  may  with  advantage  select  for  ex- 
amination the  two  extremes  of  all  supposable  cases 
lying  within  its  scope. 

(a)  The  supposed  oscillation  of  politics  will  take 
place  between  extremes  of  egoism  and  altruism  such 
as  have  already  been  seen  in  practice  within  his- 
torical times. 

(b)  The  supposed  oscillation  will  take  place 
through  an  arc  of  the  greatest  magnitude  short  of 
perfect  egoism,  on  the  one  hand,  and  perfect  altru- 
ism, on  the  other. 


THE   KNOWING  31 

In  the  case  of  (a)  comparatively  few  variations  of 
the  scheme  of  politics  would  be  possible.  If  we 
should  take  the  political  achievements  egoistic  and 
altruistic  of  individuals,  of  nations,  of  the  average 
of  humanity,  during  the  past  few  thousand  years  and 
impartially  shake  them  together  for  a  few  million 
years  more,  taking  an  occasional  look  as  they  formed 
what  combinations  they  would,  —  surges  forward 
towards  either  goal,  slips  backward  towards  the 
other,  sluggish  progressions,  partial  retrogressions, 
—  we  should  have  at  the  end  of  our  performance 
a  kaleidoscope  of  familiar  dulness.  The  antagonism 
between  oligarchy  and  democracy,  between  legis- 
lative and  executive ;  the  preliminaries  of  war  and 
its  prosecution;  the  benevolence  and  malevolence 
of  one-man  power;  the  inroads  of  socialism,  —  these 
and  all  other  incidents  of  politics  would  be  seen  in  a 
great  number  of  different  combinations  sometimes 
sufficiently  novel  to  deserve  new  names  but  never 
sufficiently  novel  to  conceal  from  an  intelligence 
equal  to  that  of  the  average  politician  of  to-day 
the  fact  that  their  basis  was  an  egoism  and  altruism 
restricted  within  bounds  incomprehensible  to  theory. 
This  must  in  time  become  subject  of  vulgar  comment 
handed  on  from  father  to  son ;  and,  though  it  seems 
likely  that  from  now  on  the  records  of  human  achieve- 
ment will  not  be  exposed  to  destruction  so  often  as 
at  certain  periods  in  the  past,  our  politician  of  the 
distant  future  would  not  need  to  turn  a  single  page 


32  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

of  them  in  order  to  realise  the  limitations  of  his  pro- 
fession. Then  theory,  the  dweller  in  brighter  worlds, 
the  tolerant  mentor  of  laggard  practice,  the  author 
of  all  known  movement  in  politics,  must  stand 
dumfounded  by  this  curtailment  of  her  influence 
at  a  definite  point  for  which  no  reason  is  known  or 
conceivable.  It  might  suddenly  occur  to  the  be- 
wildered politician  that  politics  were  perhaps  sub- 
ject to  a  power  greater  than  the  power  in  men  and 
things  and  either  less  orderly  in  its  operation  or  else 
so  different  from  it  that  the  two  could  have  no  point 
in  common,  —  an  unknown  and  wholly  unknowable 
power  which,  having  denied  man's  supposed  right 
of  partial  judgment  in  any  political  matter  how- 
soever trivial,  ends  with  denying  its  own  right  to  be 
even  mentioned  in  connexion  with  politics  and  con- 
sequently with  proving  the  absurdity  of  its  own 
existence,  —  but  this  being  sheer  nonsense,  he  must 
see  that  there  is  nothing  left  for  political  theory  but 
to  give  up  the  ghost. 

Before  proceeding  to  enquire  how  political  practice 
would  get  on  without  the  aid  of  theory,  let  us  consider 
the  case  of  the  oscillation  of  politics  as  described  in 
(b).  In  this  case  the  number  of  variations  of  the 
scheme  of  politics  would  be  the  greatest  possible 
under  (3),  and  most  of  them  would  baffle  the  intelli- 
gence of  a  politician  of  to-day  if  they  could  be  de- 
scribed to  him.  The  science  and  versatile  genius  of 
one  who  should  gain  all  but  complete  control  of 


THE   KNOWING  33 

politics  and  prescribe  for  each  man  in  every  detail 
of  his  various  activities  is  hardly  a  subject  for  profit- 
able comparison  with  the  greatest  achievements  of 
historical  times.  For  the  benefit  of  such  a  one  many 
important  secrets  must  have  been  wrested  from  the 
trees,  the  stones,  and  the  minds  of  men,  whilst  error 
must  have  been  cleared  away  in  prodigious  quanti- 
ties to  open  up  the  short  cuts  by  which  he  might  so 
quickly  reach  decision  and  effective  performance.1 
On  the  other  hand,  the  development  of  the  mass  of 
mankind  to  a  point  at  which  every  individual  has 
all  but  exactly  the  same  degree  of  influence  and  all 
but  exactly  the  same  political  opinions  as  every  other 
is  obviously  compatible  only  with  a  similar  advance- 
ment in  knowledge  and  elimination  of  error.2 

We  of  this  day  are  mentally  incompetent  to  follow 
any  supposable  future  progression  in  politics,  egoistic 
or  altruistic,  to  any  considerable  distance  beyond 
such  achievements  as  have  been  witnessed  by  our- 
selves and  our  forefathers.  One  thing,  however,  may 
safely  be  said  of  such  a  progression.  The  varia- 
tions of  the  political  scheme  that  might  occur  during 

1  Mental  deterioration  of  his  subjects  and  increased  restriction 
of  their  activities  could  hardly  be  supposed  to  afford  the  op- 
portunity of  all  but  absolute  and  universal  sovereignty  to  a  man 
only  equal  in  mental  capacity  to  the  man  of  to-day;  yet  if  it 
did,  the  political  consequences  would  be  equivalent  to  those 
presently  to  be  described. 

2  Mental  deterioration  could  not  be  supposed  to  promote  altru- 
ism any  more  than  egoism,  nor  increment  of  error  to  be  separable 
from  increased  divergence  of  opinions. 

D 


34  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

the  oscillation  of  politics  through  the  greatest  pos- 
sible arc  would  in  time  become  entirely  familiar  to 
any  intelligence  that  was  capable  of  bringing  them 
about  and  understanding  them.  And  with  the  pro- 
gression of  either  egoism  or  altruism  beyond  the 
points  that  we  now  know,  there  must  go,  as  we  have 
seen,  an  intelligence  keener  to  detect  those  apparent 
similarities  and  repetitions  which  would  loom  the 
bulkier  in  any  thought  transmitted  by  heredity  as  the 
period  of  that  thought  was  prolonged.  So  that  this 
process,  (6),  in  so  far  as  it  concerns  our  present  en- 
quiry, is  precisely  the  same  as  (a) ;  and  the  end  of  it 
all  is  that  theory  stands  confronted  with  the  fact  that 
all  her  efforts  have  proved  ultimately  futile;  that 
her  palace  of  perfection  is  nothing  but  a  fool's  para- 
dise, unaccountably  so,  and  at  the  very  next  door 
to  achievement's  abode;  that  her  inseparable  con- 
nexion with  practice,  the  sole  reason  and  evidence 
of  her  existence,  turns  out  to  have  been  illusory; 
that  she  must  die  absurdly  in  the  conviction  of 
having  never  lived. 

Between  (a)  and  (b)  lie  all  possible  cases  in  (3) ; 
and  in  our  examination  of  (3)  as  well  as  of  (1)  and 
(2)  it  is  obviously  of  no  importance  whether  we 
understand  by  politics  the  politics  of  a  small  village 
or  of  a  great  nation  or  of  the  average  of  nations 
throughout  the  earth  or  of  any  other  planet  where 
politics  may  be  supposed  to  exist.  Nor  does  it 
matter  how  great  or  how  small  a  content  anybody 


THE   KNOWING  35 

may  be  disposed  to  assign  to  the  term  politics. 
We  have  assumed  a  practical  politician  and  a  body 
politic  and  an  apparent  conflict  between,  on  the  one 
hand,  his  impulse  to  serve  himself  and  their  impulse 
to  serve  themselves,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  his 
impulse  to  serve  them  and  their  impulse  to  serve 
him  and  one  another.  These  things  we  had  a  right 
to  assume  because  everybody  has  observed  them 
in  politics ;  more  than  these  things  we  need  not  nor 
could  have  assumed  because  nothing  further  has 
ever  been  observed  nor  is  conceivable  in  politics. 

In  the  case  of  (3),  political  theory  being  dead, 
and  ourselves  face  to  face  with  the  curious  question 
how  practice  is  to  get  on  unaided,  we  are  at  once 
reminded  of  a  certain  well-known  principle  of  human 
activity. 

This  is  the  principle  that  consciousness  cannot 
exist  independently  of  change;  that  it  consists  in 
a  new  response  to  something  new  without  —  or, 
to  reduce  to  lowest  terms,  in  the  mutual  interaction 
of  two  things,  which,  either  in  themselves  or  in  their 
actual  form,  have  but  now  come  into  being  and  are 
passing  even  with  their  birth.  What  at  any  time 
affects  our  consciousness  is  invariably  something 
which  has  never  affected  it  before,  because  belong- 
ing to  a  unique  portion  of  the  universe  or,  say,  to 
a  definite  point  in  time.  The  recollection  of  a  past 
event  is  thus  an  entirely  new  act  and  could  never 
be  equalled  in  any  respect  by  a  subsequent  recol- 


36  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

lection  of  the  same  event  although  it  might  appear 
to  be  so  equalled.  And  two  apples  seen  at  the  same 
time,  or  the  same  apple  seen  at  different  times,  are 
never  quite  the  same  although  they  may  appear 
the  same. 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  we  are  imperfectly  aware  of 
things :  the  apple  changes  before  our  eyes  without 
our  being  immediately  conscious  of  the  change. 

It  is,  however,  well  known  that  this  consciousness 
of  ours  shares  with  the  objects  that  may  affect  it 
the  primal  need  of  change.  A  perfectly  monotonous 
sensation  is  unknown  and  impossible;  and  we  must 
draw  largely  on  our  imagination  for  conceptions 
of  any  near  approach  to  monotony.  You  could 
not  see  a  chalk  mark  on  the  black-board  if  you 
did  not  see  the  black-board  and  had  never  seen  one. 
Even  if  you  had  seen  black-boards  and  plenty  of 
other  things  besides,  you  could  not  look  at  the 
chalk  mark  on  the  board  very  long  at  a  time,  for  they 
would  both  soon  fade  from  view.  When  you  con- 
centrate your  ordinary  winking  gaze  on  an  apple 
on  the  tree,  change  enters  largely  into  your  sensa- 
tion, for  the  apple  itself  is  not  a  homogeneous  ap- 
pearance whilst  the  background  may  be  highly  varied. 
Yet  you  will  soon  find  yourself  in  desperate  need  of 
change;  and  unless  you  finally  turn  your  head  or 
close  your  eyes  you  will  assuredly  go  blind.  The 
same  result  would  follow  upon  your  looking  alter- 
nately at  the  apple  and  at  a  distant  mountain-top. 


THE   KNOWING  37 

There  are  doubtless  plenty  of  dogs  and  babies 
that  could  outgaze  you.  But  suppose  a  child, 
endowed  only  with  the  sense  of  hearing,  to  be  born 
at  a  time  when  a  single  continuous  note  is  being 
played  on  an  organ;  and  suppose  this  sound  and 
no  other  to  remain  ever  within  hearing  distance  of 
the  child.  We  can  safely  say  that  the  child  would 
gain  no  idea  of  sound,  —  would  not  hear,  —  al- 
though, if  other  notes  were  presently  played  at 
various  intervals,  it  would  indeed  begin  to  hear. 
Similarly,  if  it  were  born  into  absolute  stillness,  and 
later  a  single  continuous  note  were  played,  it  would 
gain  an  idea  of  sound  which,  however,  would  gradu- 
ally die  away  along  with  the  memory  of  the  change 
from  stillness  to  noise. 

Since  consciousness  —  which  may  be  roughly 
defined  as  the  sum  of  sensations  and  memories  of 
sensations  —  is  dependent  for  its  continued  exist- 
ence upon  change  not  only  in  the  objects  which 
may  affect  it,  but  also  in  the  appearances  or  sensa- 
tions representing  these  objects,  it  becomes  a 
theoretical  necessity,  as  well  as  an  observed  fact, 
that  any  approach  to  monotony  in  the  experience 
of  a  consciousness  suited,  by  virtue  of  its  ante- 
cedents or  of  its  own  earlier  experience,  to  a  more 
varied  existence,  tends  to  degrade  or  even  to 
dissolve  such  a  consciousness.  Assuming,  for  the 
moment,  that  consciousness  is  possessed  exclusively 
by  man  and  the  other  animals,  we  note  that  the  lower 


38  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

animals  may  lead  a  normal  existence  of  much 
narrower  scope  than  is  possible  to  man.  Though 
the  mechanism  of  the  human  hand  and  the  inven- 
tion of  letters  are  far  more  complex  than  anything 
to  be  found  in  the  lives  of  the  lower  animals,  any 
man  who  should  be  condemned  to  do  nothing  but 
write  his  own  name  would  soon  lose  his  mind  and 
his  life  as  well. 

Conservatism  itself  is  obviously  one  expression 
of  this  principle  of  change.  Men  who  are  unsuited 
by  heredity  or  by  individual  experience  to  highly 
mercurial  conditions  of  life  are  deprived  of  many 
of  their  congenial  pursuits  whenever  such  con- 
ditions are  realised  in  fact.  These  men  cling,  not 
merely  with  affection,  but  with  fear  and  desperation, 
to  their  old  homes,  their  villages,  and  their  familiar 
form  of  government,  knowing  that  any  sharp  turn 
of  individual  fortune  or  general  law  would  bring 
with  it  the  most  paralysing  consequences  to  their 
chosen  activities.  And  all  men  are  like  these,  the 
difference  being  only  one  of  degree.  For,  ignorant 
as  we  are  of  our  exact  capacity  for  change,  we  all 
recognise  certain  limits  to  the  aspirations  of  our  age. 

In  the  present  enquiry  into  the  destiny  of  politics 
we  have,  then,  to  bear  in  mind  that  increased  uni- 
formity of  individual  experience  leads  to  stagnation 
and  dissolution  of  the  individual  consciousness; 
that  the  more  varied  has  been  the  past  experience 
of  a  species,  or  of  a  race,  or  of  an  individual,  the 


THE   KNOWING  39 

more  imperative  is  its  demand  for  continued  and 
improved  diversity  of  experience  in  the  future; 
that  contentment  gained  is  ambition  lost  and  degra- 
dation begun ;  that  all  conservatism  makes  for  the 
stability  of  certain  conditions  of  life  as  the  best 
means  of  securing  the  differentiation  of  other  con- 
ditions. 

In  the  light  of  this  principle  the  ultimate  conse- 
quences of  an  indefinite  oscillation  of  politics  through 
egoism  and  altruism  show  clearly  enough.  Theory 
being  powerless  to  extend  the  influence  of  either 
egoism  or  altruism  beyond  a  certain  point,  the  in- 
creasing redundancy  of  political  experience  would 
become  an  axiom  in  the  minds  of  all  men.  If 
politics  comprised  the  sum  of  human  activities  and 
if  their  oscillation  was  not  interrupted  by  some  such 
calamity  as  the  end  of  the  world,  it  would  un- 
doubtedly end  in  a  calamity  tantamount  to  this 
one,  so  far  as  their  human  inventors  were  concerned. 
All  men,  that  is,  would  eventually  find  themselves 
leading  a  life  immensely  narrower,  relatively  to  the 
increased  experience  of  the  race,  than  that  of  a  man 
of  to-day  who  was  condemned  to  do  nothing  but 
write  his  own  name.  Dissolution  would  quickly 
follow. 

Without  stopping  at  present  to  discuss  the  possi- 
bility of  an  end  to  the  world,  and  before  returning 
to  our  hypotheses  (1)  and  (2),  — according  to  which 
either  altruism  or  egoism  in  politics  should  eventu- 


40  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

ally  be  exterminated  by  the  other,  —  let  us  consider 
some  other  familiar  forms  of  human  activity.  For, 
as  we  have  already  observed,  politics,  though  deal- 
ing with  practically  every  human  concern,  do  not 
in  themselves  constitute  all  these  various  concerns. 
Thus  a  man  may  lead  an  active  and  varied  life  who 
gives  no  attention  whatever  to  politics.  And  our 
hypothesis  (3)  of  indefinite  oscillation  in  politics 
may  therefore  contain  no  menace  to  the  integrity 
of  human  consciousness,  but  may  be  entirely  com- 
patible with  an  indefinitely  continued  development 
of  this  consciousness.  In  other  words,  it  is  quite 
conceivable  that,  after  an  immense  variety  of  ex- 
periments, politics  will  become  so  adjusted  that  con- 
servatism is  the  unexceptive  rule.  Then  no  man 
could  find  a  career  in  politics,  but  all  men  would, 
by  reason  of  this  exclusion,  be  freer  to  develop  in 
other  ways.  It  would  thus  be  politics,  not  their 
human  inventors,  which  had  suffered  dissolution. 
In  all  those  forms  of  human  activity  lying  out- 
side of  politics  we  may  expect  to  find,  as  in  politics 
themselves,  an  all-informing  egoism  and  altruism; 
for,  in  every  act  or  thought  of  any  man's  there 
appear  to  be  the  factors  Himself  and  Other  Men 
or  Other  Things,  just  as  in  every  material  process 
there  appear  to  be  one  thing,  and  one  or  more  things 
not  contained  within  the  first  thing.  Every  act 
and  every  thought  of  every  man  has  a  motive; 
and  this  motive  is  invariably  the  desire  to  secure 


THE   KNOWING  41 

a  real  or  apparent  benefit  for  himself  or  for  other 
living  beings.  We  need  not  here  pause  to  ask 
ourselves  if  there  is  a  distinction  between  the  per- 
ception of  a  benefit  to  be  secured  and  the  will  to 
secure  it.  For  the  moment  it  suffices  to  observe 
that  every  act  of  man  and  every  thought  leading 
to  action  seems  to  be  either  egoistic  or  altruistic.1 
Egoism  would  then  be  the  same  egoism  and  al- 
truism the  same  altruism  in  any  activity,  and  the 
only  difference  between  two  activities  would  seem 
to  lie  in  the  material  objects  with  which  they  have 
to  do.  Let  us  try  to  discover  if  this  would  neces- 
sarily be  true,  and  to  this  end  we  may  enquire  into 
the  destiny  of  egoism  and  altruism  in  another  and 
equally  conspicuous  human  concern  —  that  of 
private  property.  As  in  the  case  of  politics  their 
destiny  must  be  one  of  three : 

(1)  Egoism  will  triumph  over  and  exterminate 
altruism;  i.e.  one  man  will  gain  possession  of  all 
the  property  there  is,  and  no  other  man  will  own 
the  smallest  share  in  any  part  of  it. 

(2)  Altruism  will  triumph  over  and  exterminate 
egoism;  i.e.  the  time  will  come  when  every  man 
will  own  property  exactly  equal  in  amount  and  in 
nature  to  that  owned  by  every  other  man. 

1  Those  acts  which  we  commonly  speak  of  as  partaking  of 
both  egoism  and  altruism  need  not  receive  a  separate  considera- 
tion, since  they  are  all  truly  altruistic.  True  altruism  aims  at 
inducing  altruism  in  others :  it  may  not,  then,  manifest  itself  in 
acts  by  which  the  agent  himself  is  allowed  to  go  unbenefited. 


42  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

For  anything  we  know  to  the  contrary  either  of 
these  destinies  is  possible. 

(3)  At  some  time,  past  or  future,  will  have  been 
realised  the  greatest  centralisation  of  wealth;  and 
at  some  other  time  will  have  been  realised  the  widest 
distribution  of  wealth;  and  through  this  arc  will 
swing  for  ever  the  pendulum  of  "mine  and  thine." 

If  this  last  hypothesis  be  justified  by  the  issue, 
and  if  we  suppose  the  sum  of  human  activities  to 
equal  the  sum  of  the  processes  of  acquisition  and 
partition  of  property,  it  is  clear  that  the  destiny 
of  this  activity,  as  in  the  case  of  politics,  would 
involve  the  dissolution  of  consciousness  in  men  or 
in  any  legitimate  successors  of  men.  Or  if  the  sum 
of  human  activities  be  supposed  to  include  the 
business  of  politics  as  well,  and  indefinite  oscillation 
be  the  destiny  of  egoism  and  altruism  in  both  fields, 
the  result  would  be  the  same.  If  men  or  their 
successors  should  escape  the  doom  of  their  mother 
Earth,  and  considerations  of  property  and  politics 
should  be  extended  throughout  the  universe;  and 
if  politicians  and  property-holders  should  multiply 
in  proportion  to  this  extended  scope  of  their  activities, 
it  would  still  be  impossible  ultimately  to  avert  the 
exhaustion  of  the  resources  of  these  two  careers, 
unless  it  be  supposed  that  these  resources  together 
with  those  who  handle  them  be  multiplied  to  in- 
finity: a  supposition  which  is  obviously  absurd 
in  connexion  with  either  property  or  politics,  since 


THE   KNOWING  43 

it  would  deny  to  any  polity  or  piece  of  property 
any  value  whatsoever  as  a  basis  for  action,  discus- 
sion, or  thought.  Or,  again,  if  we  make  the  extreme, 
and  highly  improbable,  supposition  that  from  time 
to  time  all  written  and  verbal  records  of  the  past 
be  destroyed,  the  legacy  of  racial  experience  by 
heredity  would  eventually  reduce  the  once  novel 
impulses  to  action  in  either  of  these  two  fields  to 
a  paralysing  monotony;  and  nothing  but  the  ma- 
terial collapse  of  the  universe  could  avert  that 
similar  calamity  of  a  gradual  dissolution  of  con- 
sciousness. 

But  wealth  and  power  do  not  constitute  the  sum 
of  human  concerns,  and  we  occasionally  observe 
a  man  leading  a  full  and  varied  life  though  giving 
but  little  attention  to  either.  Let  us,  then,  proceed 
to  examine  the  roles  of  egoism  and  altruism  in  those 
departments  of  human  activity  lying  wholly  or 
partially  outside  of  politics  and  the  distribution  of 
material  property.1 

The  pursuit  of  fame,  when  considered  apart  from 
the  practice  of  an  art  for  its  own  sake,  presents  an 
analogy  so  close  to  that  of  the  pursuit  of  political 
power  as  to  require  no  detailed  review. 

Again,  the  addiction  to  vices  of  the  senses,  arising 
as  it  always  seems  to  do  from  an  impulse  to  acquire 
an  apparent  superiority  over  others  or  over  one's 

1  Again  postponing  consideration  of  our  hypotheses  (1)  and 
(2). 


44  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

normal  self,  presents  a  similar  analogy  and  calls  for 
no  separate  treatment  here.  A  dream  of  love, 
wealth,  or  domination  is  doubtless  the  reason  for 
them  all ;  or  if  anyone  should  prefer  to  regard  them 
as  merely  the  relics  of  a  more  bestial  past,  he  would 
expect  them  to  be  left  out  of  a  discussion  of  activities 
peculiarly  human. 

We  may,  then,  proceed  to  consider  a  certain 
motive  of  men's  actions  which  seems  to  show  some 
distinguishing  characteristics.  This  motive  we  may 
call  love  and  define  roughly  as  an  emotional  con- 
sideration which  anybody  may  have  for  self,  wife, 
child,  friend,  or  all  mankind.  And  love  as  a  form 
of  activity  may  be  called  the  practical  consequences 
of  that  emotional  consideration,  since  no  motive 
can  exist  without  an  act  to  follow,  be  it  but  the 
involuntary  quiver  of  an  eyelid  or  a  thought  un- 
uttered. 

With  no  desire  especially  to  exclude  them  from 
consideration,  we  may  nevertheless  refrain  from 
laying  great  stress  on  the  so-called  physical  char- 
acteristics of  love,  since  in  sexual  love  and  in  love 
of  progeny  we  differ  so  little  from  some  of  the  lower 
animals  that  these  activities  possess  but  little  in- 
terest in  a  discussion  whose  range  is,  for  the  moment, 
being  purposely  confined  to  the  domain  of  activities 
peculiarly  human.  Obvious  as  is  their  importance 
as  an  evolutionary  means  to  the  end  of  life  itself, 
they  were  more  properly  discussed  in  connexion 


THE   KNOWING  45 

with  the  other  processes  of  nature.  We  may  here 
regard  them  simply  as  exerting  a  greater  or  lesser 
influence  on  that  emotional  consideration  which 
results  in  acts  of  love  in  general. 

Love  is  regarded  as  in  the  main  altruistic;  yet 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  observe  that  its  whole 
existence  seems  to  be  made  up  of  a  conflict  between 
altruism  and  egoism;  the  immediate  realisation  of 
perfect  altruism  being  prevented  by  no  other  human 
influence  than  that  self-love  which  we  have  con- 
veniently divided  into  the  categories  of  fear,  hate, 
pride,  self-indulgence,  conceit,  self-respect,  etc. 
The  perfect  egoism  of  love  would  mean  that  every- 
body would  love  himself  and  nobody  else,  and 
would  act  accordingly  in  every  way;  for  love,  like 
politics,  is  intimately  connected  with  all  other 
human  activities  and  in  its  manifestations  the  con- 
crete is  always  involved.  That  is  to  say,  the  most 
refined  abstractions  of  love,  as  manifested  in  praise, 
blame,  or  sympathy,  admiration  of  mental  gifts, 
or  encouragement  given  to  another  to  work  for  a 
moral  principle,  are  all  grounded  solely  upon  objects 
capable  of  affecting  our  organs  and  nerves  of  sense 
or  upon  inferences  directly  derived  from  sense-im- 
pressions. These  reflections  on  the  manifestations 
of  love  are  not  essential  to  our  main  theme,  but 
may  serve  to  mitigate  its  character  of  abstractness. 
Nor  is  it  necessary  to  assign  a  quantitative  value 
to  any  particular  love,   egoistic  or  altruistic.     In 


46  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

any  case  it  would  depend  upon  a  variety  of  circum- 
stances, —  the  physical  and  mental  characteristics 
of  the  lover,  his  position  in  life  with  regard  to  other 
activities,  the  comparative  usefulness  or  futility 
of  performing  acts  of  love  or  of  yearning  to  perform 
them,  etc.,  —  and  how  great  would  be  that  self-love 
which  should  embody  the  perfection  of  egoism,  it 
is  neither  possible  nor,  for  present  purposes,  desirable 
to  know. 

(1)  The  perfect  egoism  of  love  would  mean,  then, 
that  everybody  would  love  himself  and  nobody  else, 
and  would  act  accordingly  in  every  way ;  and 

(2)  The  perfect  altruism  of  love  would  mean  that 
everybody  would  love  himself  and  everybody  else 
equally,  and  would  act  accordingly  in  every  way. 
While  love  existed,  nobody  might  refrain  from  lov- 
ing himself  as  well  as  others,  for  he  must  always 
suffer  acts  of  love  to  be  done  to  him;  moreover, 
his  love  for  others  would  prevent  his  desiring  them 
to  witness  his  martyrdom  or  to  love  one  whom  he 
loved  not. 

Either  of  the  above  destinies  of  the  activity  of  love 
is  conceivable  and  negatives  nothing  that  we  know. 

(3)  It  is  readily  to  be  seen  that  the  hypothesis 
of  the  indefinite  oscillation  of  love  between  the 
extremes  of  egoism  and  altruism  just  short  of  the 
perfection  of  either  would  mean  the  eventual  an- 
nihilation of  love;  or,  if  all  other  human  activities 
had  perished,  it  would  mean  the  eventual  dissolution 


THE   KNOWING  47 

of  human  consciousness.  In  love,  as  in  other  activ- 
ities, the  vastly  strengthened  will  or  intelligence 
which  must  be  a  condition  precedent  to  any  near 
approach  to  the  perfection  of  either  egoism  or 
altruism  would  be  at  least  sufficient  to  deprive  of 
interest  any  oscillation  of  love  which  might  extend 
no  farther  in  either  of  the  only  two  possible  di- 
rections. History  and  inexorable  heredity  must  then 
do  their  work.  The  need  to  be  inventive  in  love 
is  already  admitted  by  us  all;  but  the  most  subtle 
refinements  of  affection  and  forethought  would  in 
time  come  to  be  regarded  as  no  better  than  singing 
"Drink  to  me  only  with  your  eyes"  or  giving  a 
brace  of  jewelled  hearts.  The  effect  of  these  or 
similar  demonstrations  upon  any  member  of  a 
generation  having  more  varied  traditions  than  our 
own  and  lacking  the  diversion  of  politics  or  of  trade 
need  not  be  dwelt  on  at  length.  Eventually  no 
word  could  be  said  to  one's  beloved,  no  surprise  pre- 
pared for  him,  which  possessed  for  him  the  smallest 
interest.  No  pain  could  be  spared  him  with  which 
he  was  not  already  so  familiar  that  to  have  suffered 
it  would  have  been  no  pain  at  all  but  merely  flat 
and  futile  death. 

Thus  in  love,  as  in  politics,  though  real  or  apparent 
oscillations  through  egoism  and  altruism  may  have 
already  taken  place,  and  though  further  oscillations 
be  inevitable  in  the  future,  the  net  result  of  every 


48  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

series  of  a  sufficient  number  of  oscillations  must  be 
an  advance  in  the  direction  of  either  egoism  or  al- 
truism, —  that  is,  if  love  is  to  be  acquitted  of  suicidal 
intent.  Love,  then,  and  politics  and  the  rest, 
would  seem  to  differ  in  their  motions  from  a  material 
pendulum,  and  the  figure  is  perhaps  indeed  far- 
fetched, although  we  may  have  reason  to  doubt 
if  the  real  motions  of  a  pendulum  are  correctly 
described 'by  its  "laws." 

A  word,  now,  as  to  another  human  activity  which 
so  nearly  coincides  with  love  that  the  two  might 
quite  well  have  formed  the  subject  of  a  single 
inquiry.  It  comprises  all  those  acts,  whether  in 
politics,  trade,  the  life  of  the  family,  or  any  other 
phase  of  life,  which  may  be  considered  according 
to  ethical  standards.  Roughly  speaking,  morality 
is  the  altruism  of  it;  immorality,  the  egoism. 
Should  anyone  care  to  draw  distinctions,  he  may  do 
so  without  in  any  way  affecting  the  results  of  the 
enquiry.  Hypothesis  (3)  as  to  the  destiny  of  this 
activity  would  obviously  lead  to  the  same  issue  as 
in  the  case  of  all  the  other  activities  considered. 
For,  as  soon  as  the  futility  of  all  moral  or  immoral 
acts  was  clearly  demonstrated,  everybody  would 
become  unmoral.  The  perfection  of  immorality 
is  conceivable  as  a  state  of  society  in  which  every- 
body would  always  endeavour  to  act  in  his  own 
interest  and  not  in  the  interest  of  anybody  else. 
And  the  perfection  of  morality  would  mean  that 


THE   KNOWING  49 

everybody  would  always  try  to  act  in  the  interest 
of  himself  and  all  others  equally.1 

Let  us  now  consider  that  department  of  human 
activity  which  may  be  called  provisionally  the 
practice  of  an  art  for  its  own  sake.  Politics,  war, 
trade,  love,  and  the  rest  are  all  arts  which  may 
conceivably  be,  and  perhaps  sometimes  are,  practised 
largely  for  their  own  sakes ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  may  be  doubted  if  any  of  the  mechanical  or  fine 
arts  are  ever  practised  exclusively  for  their  own  sakes. 
Our  concern  at  present  is  with  that  phase  of  the 
practice  of  any  art,  be  it  politics,  carpentry,  or  music, 
which  is  determined  by  the  intrinsic  interest  pos- 
sessed by  that  art  for  the  practitioner. 

For  the  purposes  of  this  inquiry,  the  scope  of  the 
activity  under  consideration  may  be  extended  so 
as  to  include  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  as  well.  We 
draw  a  convenient  and  practically  necessary  dis- 
tinction between  science  and  art  which,  however, 
cannot  be  sustained  in  either  their  evolutionary  or 

1  Certain  phases  of  the  religious  life  are  treated  of  in  the  text 
in  the  reviews  of  politics,  love,  and  the  pursuit  of  knowledge. 
That  phase  of  it  which  is  generally  regarded  as  being  determined 
exclusively  by  dogma  is  purposely  omitted  from  consideration 
in  the  belief  that  the  readers  of  this  essay  will  agree  that  the 
influence  of  dogma  upon  human  activities  is  no  more  a  funda- 
mental one  than,  say,  the  laws  of  nations.  If,  however,  it  were  to 
be  formally  treated  in  the  text,  the  results  of  such  treatment  are 
readily  to  be  divined.  In  the  eighth  chapter  will  be  found  some 
ancient  observations  upon  our  fundamental  love  and  fear  of  the 
supernatural  which,  I  trust,  will  make  clear  the  inutility  of  their 
receiving  a  separate  treatment  in  this  chapter. 


50  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

their  teleological  aspect.  Knowledge  is  new  ex- 
perience. The  ancestors  of  a  painter  gained  certain 
new  experiences  through  their  actions  in  going  to 
live  in  a  certain  country,  in  letting  their  eyes  rest 
on  certain  objects,  in  laying  their  hands  to  certain 
pieces  of  work;  and  the  sum  of  these  experiences 
together  with  the  sum  of  his  own  constitute  our 
painter's  opportunity  to  paint,  his  ability  and  desire 
to  paint,  and  his  act  of  painting  as  well.  His  act 
of  painting  is  itself  new  experience  of  precisely  the 
same  order  as  the  entomologist's  chance  discovery 
of  a  new  species.  His  aim  in  painting  is  again  the 
same  as  the  entomologist's  or  the  pedagogue's  or 
the  philosopher's :  to  produce  a  new  object  of 
interest  for  his  own  or  another's  contemplation, 
or  the  copy  of  an  old  object  which  continues  to 
provide  new  experience  for  himself  or  others.  The 
combination  of  new  experience  to  form  still  newer 
experience  is  seen  in  every  stroke  of  the  painter's 
brush,  which  is  the  resultant  of,  or  the  conclusion 
consciously  or  unconsciously  drawn  from,  all  the 
earlier  strokes  of  his  own  brush  and  of  other  brushes 
whose  products  he  has  studied.  In  sum,  though 
the  work  of  each  individual  artist  is  different  from 
that  of  every  other  artist  and  scientist,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  discover  any  but  an  apparent  difference 
between  the  work  of  scientists  as  a  class  and  that  of 
artists  as  a  class,  their  antecedents,  their  consumma- 
tion, their  aim,  being  precisely  similar,  and  the  only 


THE   KNOWING  51 

distinction  between  them  having  been  arbitrarily 
established  by  ourselves  to  compensate  for  our 
necessarily  massive  ignorance  of  the  factors  in  any 
particular  performance. 

We  may,  then,  define  the  activity  under  con- 
sideration as  the  acquirement  of  knowledge  for 
its  own  sake:  this  to  include  the  study  of  the  arts 
and  physical  sciences,  of  history,  philosophy,  liter- 
ature, etc.,  the  teaching  of  all  these  branches  of 
learning,  as  well  as  the  practice  of  all  arts,  in  the 
widest  sense  of  the  word  "art,"  for  the  intrinsic  in- 
terest which  they  possess.  That  such  an  activity 
is  indeed  human  will,  I  think,  be  questioned  by  none. 
For,  should  we  assume  that  no  single  piece  of  know- 
ledge was  ever  of  interest  exclusively  for  its  own  sake, 
but  that  some  consideration  of  wealth,  fame,  of  a 
desired  supremacy  over  another,  or  of  the  prolonga- 
tion of  life  itself,  was  always  in  the  mind  of  him  who 
sought  it,  the  end  of  such  acquisition  of  wealth, 
fame,  supremacy,  or  additional  days  of  life,  must 
still  be  new  experience,  and  our  assumption  must  by 
implication  be  discredited. 

At  the  end  of  this  stage  of  our  investigation  I  think 
we  may  be  satisfied  that  we  have,  in  our  review 
beginning  with  politics  and  ending  with  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge,  ignored  none  of  those  activities  which 
are  peculiarly  human. 

Since  we  have  found  that  all  other  activities  seemed 
to  consist  in  a  conflict  between  egoism  and  altruism, 


52  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

we  might  expect  to  find  in  the  acquirement  of  know- 
ledge a  similar  conflict  which,  however,  fails  to  dis- 
close itself  at  first  glance.  A  more  rigorous  search, 
made  in  the  belief  that  this  conflict  must  lie  some- 
where subtly  hidden,  is  equally  unproductive. 

May  the  musical  virtuoso  be  more  altruistic  than 
egoistic  when  composing  or  performing  for  the  love 
of  music? 

May  he,  on  the  other  hand,  be  more  egoistic  than 
altruistic?  I  am  unaware  if  any  musician  or  other 
artist  has  ever  withheld  from  his  fellows  any  dis- 
covery or  innovation  of  his  own  for  reasons  relating 
exclusively  to  the  art  itself.  At  all  events,  this  could 
only  have  been  done  in  the  conviction  that  the  secret 
would  not  die  with  its  discoverer;  for  if  the  dis- 
coverer believed  he  was  definitively  withholding  his 
new  experience,  his  act  of  withholding  would  not 
be  serving  his  interest  in  the  art :  in  so  far  as  the  art 
was  concerned  there  would  have  been  no  new  expe- 
rience whatever.  An  artist  might,  of  course,  with- 
hold certain  innovations  in  favour  of  other  innova- 
tions, because  of  limitations  of  time  or  opportunity ; 
but  such  an  act,  clearly,  would  not  be  artistically 
egoistic. 

May  he  who  abandons  his  study  of  higher  mathe- 
matics in  order  to  teach  arithmetic  be  more  altruistic 
than  egoistic?  Clearly  not,  if  he  does  this  for  his 
interest  in  teaching  arithmetic. 

Try  as  we  will,  we  can  find  no  instance  of  the  pur- 


THE   KNOWING  53 

suit  of  knowledge  for  its  own  sake  which  reveals 
a  conflict  between  egoism  and  altruism  or  even  the 
slightest  reason  for  the  use  of  either  of  these  terms 
in  connexion  with  this  activity. 

This  conclusion  respecting  the  pursuit  of  know- 
ledge seems  at  least  as  indisputable  as  any  of  those 
other  conclusions  arrived  at  in  the  course  of  this 
investigation.  But  what,  then,  of  our  other  activi- 
ties, politics,  trade,  and  the  rest?  Can  we  doubt 
that  they  are  really  human  activities  or  that  there 
is  a  conflict  in  them,  —  a  conflict  which  we  defined 
as  the  mutual  opposition  of  egoism  and  altruism 
and  which  we  believed  to  be  identical  with  the 
peculiarly  human  phase  of  each  of  them,  the  only 
difference  between  two  activities  lying  in  the  ma- 
terial objects  with  which  they  had  to  do?  Or  is 
there,  perhaps,  no  point  of  contact  between  politics, 
trade,  and  love,  on  the  one  hand,  which  consisted 
each  in  a  conflict  between  egoism  and  altruism,  and 
the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  on  the  other  hand,  with 
which  neither  egoism  nor  altruism  had  anything 
to  do,  unless  such  point  of  contact  lie  in  those 
material  circumstances  which  we  have  not  yet  had 
under  consideration? 

But  we  have  already  seen  that  knowledge  played 
a  very  important  part  in  all  those  other  activities. 
Not  only  was  it  the  principle  of  the  unceasing  pur- 
suit of  new  experience  that  determined  our  sole 
conclusion  of  value   respecting  those  activities,  — 


54  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

the  conclusion  that  indefinite  oscillation  of  them 
all  through  egoism  and  altruism  would  end  in  the 
dissolution  of  consciousness,  —  but  no  single  state- 
ment of  ours  was  in  any  part  or  all  independent  of 
this  principle.  Ambition,  greed,  jealousy,  modesty, 
or  the  acts  and  thoughts  resulting  therefrom  must 
be  the  present  culmination  of  past  new  experience. 
In  each  ambitious  act  or  modest  thought  the  factors 
are  the  sum  of  the  past  experience  of  the  actor  or 
thinker  and  of  a  greater  or  lesser  portion  of  the  ex- 
perience of  all  his  ancestors.  And  these  two  factors, 
determined  though  they  doubtless  are  by  the  sum 
of  universal  events,  constitute  a  new  experience  — 
that  is,  an  act  or  thought  —  which  is  different  from 
anybody  else's  new  experience. 

Thus  are  we  brought  face  to  face  with  the  fact 
that  all  our  human  activities,  though  they  may 
seem  to  differ  from  one  another  in  their  ultimate 
or  concrete  subject-matter,  are  as  thoroughly  in- 
formed by  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  as  we  had 
believed  them  to  be  by  the  conflict  between  egoism 
and  altruism;  and,  since  the  only  thing  that  hu- 
manity or  mind  can  do  immediately  to  matter  is  to 
know  it,  this  last  distinction  between  our  activities 
disappears  from  view.  Furthermore,  we  know  that 
our  conflict  between  egoism  and  altruism  cannot  be 
identical  with  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  for  we  have 
seen  clearly  enough  that  egoism  and  altruism  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.     And,  as  we  cannot  in  any  way 


THE   KNOWING  55 

get  rid  of  this  pursuit  of  knowledge  or  having  of  new 
experience,  we  are  forced  to  conclude  that  the  con- 
flict between  egoism  and  altruism  does  not  exist  in 
fact,  but  only  in  appearance ;  that  no  act  or  thought 
of  man  is  egoistic  or  altruistic  or  both. 

Whatever  may  be  the  value  of  this  conclusion, 
so  far  as  it  goes,  —  whatever,  indeed,  may  be  the 
value,  pragmatically  considered,  of  that  logic  which 
has  enabled  us  to  reach  it,  —  when  we  come  to  test 
it  by  the  standard  of  applicability  in  particular 
instances  we  find,  as  was  to  be  expected,  that  it 
receives  the  most  complete  and  emphatic  corrobo- 
ration. Let  us  review  and  extend  our  earlier  con- 
siderations of  those  activities  which  seemed  to 
consist  in  a  conflict  between  egoism  and  altruism. 

"If  the  destiny  of  politics  x  is  correctly  described 
in  (1),  it  is  clear  that  their  control  will  eventually 
devolve  upon  a  single  individual  who  will  prescribe 
for  all  other  men  in  every  detail  of  those  multifarious 
activities  with  which  politics  have  to  do." 

"If  the  destiny  of  politics  is  correctly  described 
in  (2),  it  is  clear  that  their  control  will  eventually 
devolve  upon  the  mass  of  mankind  taken  together, 
of  which  every  individual  will  have  exactly  the  same 
degree  of  influence  and  exactly  the  same  political 
opinions  as  every  other." 

It  will  be  seen  that  (2)  is  exactly  equal  to  (1). 

1  Page  29. 


56  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

For  in  (2),  as  in  (1),  there  might  be  a  vast  number  of 
variously  hungry  and  thirsty  men,  of  variously 
loving  and  hating  men,  but  there  would  be  but  one 
political  man,  and  this  one  would  deal  with  all  these 
various  hungers  and  thirsts,  loves  and  hates,  in  but 
one  way,  the  way  of  the  perfect  politician.  And  to 
describe  this  man  or  his  politics  as  either  egoistic 
or  altruistic  would  obviously  be  meaningless. 

In  the  case  of  private  property,1  it  will  again  be 
seen  that  the  perfection  of  altruism  would  be  tanta- 
mount to  the  perfection  of  egoism,  since,  in  respect 
of  property,  there  would  be  but  one  man  who  would 
own  everything  there  was  to  be  owned. 

Without  stopping  to  inquire  what  would  become  of 
private  property  and  of  politics  in  the  hands  of  the 
perfect  proprietor  and  of  the  perfect  politician  — 
and  passing  over  the  pursuit  of  fame  and  the  ad- 
diction to  vices  of  the  senses  as  presenting  no  dis- 
tinguishing features  of  interest  —  we  shall  find  that 
in  love  2  the  same  identification  of  perfect  altruism 
with  perfect  egoism  is  inevitable.  All  men  being 
exactly  alike  in  respect  of  love,  there  would  be  but 
one  lover  and  one  beloved.  And  the  same  thing  is 
as  true  of  morality  and  immorality : 3  morality  when 
absolutely  pure  becomes  equivalent  to  pure  im- 
morality. 

Having  satisfied  ourselves  that  the  perfection  of 
egoism  and  of  altruism  would  be  one  and  the  same 

1  Page  41.  2  Page  46.  3  Page  48. 


THE   KNOWING  57 

thing  and  that  the  state  of  human  society  embodying 
such  perfection  in  all  its  activities  might  not  there- 
fore be  called  either  egoistic  or  altruistic,  we  may 
ask  ourselves  if   intermediate  stages   of  activities 
might,  nevertheless,  reveal  a  real  conflict  between 
egoism  and  altruism.     May  we  of  to-day  be  perform- 
ing  really  egoistic  and   altruistic   acts?     In  sum, 
may  either  egoism  or  altruism  be  a  means  to  the  end 
of  that  perfection  which  embodies  neither?    The 
impossibility  of  an  affirmative  answer  becomes  clear 
when  we  remember  that  no  end  has  ever  been  known 
but  was  itself  a  means :  that  no  end  is  even  conceiv- 
able which  looks  not  to  another  end.     So  necessary  a 
constituent  of  all  thought  is  the  conception  of  con- 
tinuity in  new  experience  that  perfection  itself  can 
have  no  meaning  for  us  unless  it  may  be  regarded  as 
the  means  to  something  else.     And  if  perfection 
could  have  no  meaning,  ail-but  perfection  could  not  be 
a  means  to  anything  else,  and  so  could  have  no 
meaning,   nor  ail-but  ail-but  perfection,  and  so  on 
down  to  our  imperfect  selves  who  would  then  collapse 
in  absurdity.     I  may  labour  a  whole  lifetime  with  a 
single  end  in  view,  only  to  find,  when  I  have  attained 
it,  that  it  is  a  means.     And  if  I  had  at  any  time  tried 
to  conceive  it  solely  as  an  end  without  consequences, 
it  is  obvious  that  I  could  not  have  laboured  for  it. 
I  may  be  at  great  pains  to  kill  myself,  with  a  view  to 
getting  out  of  this  world,  but  not  with  a  view  to 
sleeping  a  dreamless  sleep  for  ever,  for  that  view  I 


58  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

cannot  take,  although  I  can  mentally  repeat  the 
words  and  compare  them  with  other  traditional 
statements  about  the  ends  of  things  which  have 
formed  the  nucleus  of  beliefs  but  have  never  corre- 
sponded to  actual  conceptions,  —  that  is,  to  any- 
thing that  may  be  maintained  in  thought.  In  a 
subsequent  investigation  we  may  attempt  to  seize 
the  true  significance  of  a  belief  in  the  ends  of  things. 
For  present  purposes,  our  knowledge  that  matter,  if 
it  has  ever  really  died,  has  in  all  observed  instances 
died  in  giving  birth  either  to  new  matter  or  to  some- 
thing from  which  new  matter  may  be  formed ;  that 
the  same  continuity  is  always  observed  in  form 
and  is  the  very  essence  of  thought :  this  knowledge 
would  justify  the  inference  that  ail-but  perfect  egoism 
could  not  die  in  giving  birth  to  the  perfection  of 
something  that  is  neither  egoism  nor  its  opposite, 
and  in  connexion  with  which  either  term  is  both 
actually  and  potentially  irrelevant,  even  if  we  had  not 
previously  reached  firm  logical  ground  for  denying 
to  both  egoism  and  altruism  any  part  in  human 
affairs  save  as  appearances  or  convenient  symbols  of 
actual  processes. 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  the  sum  of  activities  peculiarly 
human  for  any  period  or  for  all  time  must  be  identi- 
cal with  that  process,  within  corresponding  limits, 
which  we  have  called  the  pursuit  or  acquirement  of 
knowledge,  the  only  means  of  pursuing  knowledge 
being  the  acquirement  of  other  knowledge.     The 


THE   KNOWING  59 

life  of  the  human  race,  in  other  words,  consists  in  the 
continuous  reduction  of  the  unknown  by  the  knowing ; 
in  the  ceaseless  succession  of  new  experiences,  each 
experience  constituting  the  sum  of  all  earlier  ex- 
periences. Each  individual  knower  in  this  race  of 
knowers  is  different  from  every  other;  each  of  his 
experiences  is  different  from  every  other  experience 
of  his  own  or  of  any  other.  Thus,  both  knowers 
and  known  defy  all  classification  save  that  one  which 
embraces  them  all:  every  thought  or  act  is  new 
experience,  and  it  can  be  nothing  else ;  every  thinker 
or  actor  gains  new  experience,  and  he  can  do  nothing 
else. 

Far  from  continuous  appears  this  process  to  us  of 
to-day  having  so  much  of  the  unknown  before  us, 
while  we  flounder  clumsily  in  our  distinctions 
between  egoism  and  altruism,  science  and  art, 
justice  and  injustice.  Rather  does  it  appear  spas- 
modic and  often  exceedingly  painful. 

An  occasional  somebody,  who  does  not  believe 
that  we  are  cousins  of  the  fishes,  but  who  is  deeply 
impressed  with  the  significance  of  some  thousands  of 
years  of  written  records,  denies  that  any  such  process 
exists,  and  tells  us  that  we  are  doing  exactly  the 
same  things  we  did  over  a  hundred  generations  ago, 
and  he  is  by  no  means  thinking  of  new  experience. 

If  I  perceive  an  opportunity  to  deceive  a  foreigner 
and  so  to  secure  for  my  countrymen  what  everybody 


60  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

calls  a  substantial  practical  advantage,  am  I  certain 
to  refrain  from  taking  the  necessary  step  because  I 
recognise  the  impossibility  of  looking  far  enough  into 
the  immediate  future  to  discover  many  of  the  practi- 
cal consequences  of  my  act,  or  because  I  recognise  the 
theoretical  necessity  that  whatever  now  appears  to 
give  my  countrymen  a  practical  advantage  over 
foreigners  cannot  give  them  or  me  or  anybody  else 
any  really  practical  advantage  ? 

If  I  am  being  burned  at  the  stake  for  having  up- 
held a  principle  in  which  I  believed,  I  am  not  likely 
to  reflect  that  the  act  of  my  persecutors  is  of  the 
same  nature  as  my  present  experience.  Suppose  the 
principle  I  upheld  to  be,  like  all  other  principles, 
imperfect,  in  spite  of  which  I  have  in  a  moment  of 
exaltation  seen  far  into  the  nature  of  things,  I 
might  then  feel  no  hatred  of  my  persecutors,  I  might 
die  with  a  smile  on  my  lips ;  yet  I  should  probably 
be  aware  of  the  pain  of  burning. 

If  I  am  stronger  than  my  neighbour  and  equally 
hungry,  I  may  refrain  from  taking  his  loaf  because  I 
feel  that  to  do  so  would  be  wrong.  I  may  argue 
that  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  if  he  has  any  right 
to  that  loaf ;  that  I  am  in  equal  ignorance  as  to  the 
consequences  of  my  decision  to  society  in  general; 
that  I  am,  on  the  contrary,  well  aware  that  the 
classification  of  acts  as  right  and  wrong  does  not 
apply  to  any  single  act  whether  it  concern  a  loaf,  a 
wife,  or  a  battle,  since  any  act  may  have  consequences 


THE   KNOWING  61 

which  are  in  nature  the  opposite  of  the  intention; 
that  this  classification  is  not  even  based  upon  proba- 
bilities making  it  applicable  to  the  majority  of  cases, 
since  the  preponderance  of  consequences  wholly  un- 
known to  its  authors  over  those  they  guessed  at  is  so 
vast  that  probability  is  not  to  be  thought  of  in 
connexion  with  it ;  finally  I  may  argue  that  it  matters 
not  the  least  whether  I  take  the  loaf  or  leave  it, 
since  in  either  case  both  I  and  my  weaker  neighbour 
shall  gain  new  experience,  and  when  we  have  gained 
enough  of  this,  hunger  will  be  but  a  name :  and  still 
I  may  leave  him  his  loaf  because  of  my  innate  and 
deep-seated  feeling  that  to  take  it  would  be  wrong. 

Thus  have  the  authors  of  these  and  other  cele- 
brated distinctions,  ignorant  though  they  were  of 
probabilities,  made  society  what  it  is  to-day,  and  no 
other  course  was  open  to  them ;  just  as  to  us,  ignorant 
also  of  probabilities  but  with  more  of  past  experi- 
ence and  less  of  future,  no  other  course  is  open  than 
gradually  to  replace  these  fading  distinctions  with 
conceptions  better  suited  to  our  position  in  time.1 

Enough  has  been  said  to  indicate,  so  far  as  is 
possible  with  the  means  at  our  command,  the  nature 
of  the  relation  of  our  practical  life  of  to-day,  in  which 
we  work  largely  if  not  entirely 2  with  symbols,  to  that 

1  The  will  to  conquer,  die,  live,  or  let  live  in  the  face  of  reasons 
for  the  contrary  proceedings  will  be  considered  in  two  different 
aspects  in  Chapters  IV  and  VII. 

2  It  will  be  remembered  that  we  have  as  yet  barely  touched 
upon  the  purely  material  side  of  life. 


62  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

inner  or  basic  process  for  which  we  are  always  trying 
to  find  improved  symbols  and  which  in  its  entirety 
in  all  time  would  constitute  the  sum  or  universe  of 
human  affairs ;  and  we  are  now  naturally  led  back  to 
the  query  with  which  we  began,  What  is  the  destiny  of 
all  our  human  activities  or  of  that  one  process  of  gain- 
ing new  experience  which  is  seen  to  inform  them  all  ? 
It  is  now  clear  that  this  destiny  must  be  one  of  two : 

(1)  or  (2)  —  to  follow  the  scheme  of  our  earlier 
enquiries  —  The  human  race  will  culminate  in  a  race 
of  beings,  or  rather  in  one  being,  since  the  individuals 
would  be  identical  with  one  another  in  every  respect, 
who  knows  all  that  exists  and  has  ever  existed. 

(3)  The  achievements  of  the  human  race  will  have 
approached  at  some  period  past  or  future  to  within  a 
certain  distance  of  omniscience  —  which  distance 
may  be  any  between  the  least  we  have  as  yet  known 
and  the  span  of  a  single  new  experience  —  beyond 
which  no  advance  will  ever  be  made. 

To  consider  first  the  first-mentioned  hypothesis: 
it  is  impossible  to  gain  a  very  satisfactory  idea  of  a 
being  who  had  already  attained  to  this  perfection  of 
knowledge  or  was  approaching  it  in  confidence; 
nevertheless,  a  few  things  may  be  said  of  him  in 
general  terms.  Feeling  no  physical  or  mental  want 
he  may  nevertheless  know  all  the  pains  and  pleasures, 
all  the  selfish  and  unselfish  acts  of  all  his  predecessors, 
—  of  all  those  who  go  to  make  him  up,  — and  he  may 
know  these  events  in  perfect  composure  because  he 


THE   KNOWING  63 

understands  them.  He  may  pry  without  shame 
into  all  the  shameful  details  of  all  our  lives — that  is, 
his  life  —  because,  again,  he  understands  them.  The 
sum  of  these  and  other  similar  performances  consti- 
tutes an  occupation  whose  real  incentive  is  the 
derivative  of  that  curiosity  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
determines  our  actual  quest  of  food,  pleasures, 
honours.  Our  successor  who  is  approaching  perfec- 
tion may  live  in  a  world  that  is  ruined  and  in  ashes, 
for  he  has  the  interest  of  all  earlier  worlds  at  his 
beck  and  call,  even  as  we  of  to-day  are  fond  of  recon- 
structing, as  far  as  possible,  periods  of  earth-history 
in  which  we  neither  would  nor  could  have  lived. 
Whether  he  would  be  identical  with  his  world  is  a 
question  that  will  presently  be  raised :  he  would  at  all 
events  know  it  thoroughly. 

Perfection  attained,  what  would  he  then  do  ?  For 
we  cannot  admit  his  perfection  unless  it  be  a  means 
to  something  else. 

Might  he  persist  indefinitely  in  his  perfection, 
passing  from  one  to  another  of  his  retrospective  sur- 
veys ?  If  he  be  regarded  as  having  absorbed,  and  so 
as  containing  within  himself,  all  time,  such  persistence 
in  perfection  for  more  time  is  an  obvious  absurdity. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  his  knowing  be  regarded  as 
conditioned  by  time  in  the  same  way  as  our  actions 
of  to-day  are  regarded,  —  for,  so  far  as  we  have  as 
yet  considered  him,  perfect  knower  though  he  is, 
he  may  nevertheless  be   limited,    as    by  material 


64  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

conditions,  —  it  would  still  be  inadmissible  that  he 
should  give  one  moment  of  time  to  one  review  and  the 
next  to  another,  for  at  no  time  would  he  then  embody 
perfection.  Our  conception  of  his  perfection  — 
crude  though  it  is,  yet  possessing  parental  authority 
—  demands  that  in  that  last  moment  of  time  which  he 
absorbs,  or  in  which  he  knows,  he  shall  complete  all 
his  reviews. 

If,  then,  he  may  not  persist  in  perfection,  might  he 
conceivably  retrace  his  steps?  If  so,  he  could  not 
be  our  legitimate  descendant  nor  have  any  connexion 
with  an  observed  human  or  material  universe  in 
which  no  processes  are  reversible.  Premises  cannot 
follow  upon  conclusions,  nor  the  child  be  born  before 
its  mother.  Our  perfect  knower  has  absorbed  every- 
thing humanly  possible,  including  mental  and  verbal 
images  of  impossibilities.  He  may  revive  a  mental 
picture  more  or  less  vivid  of  a  dragon  or  a  three-footed 
hen,  but  he  may  not  maintain  this  picture  if  he  carry 
it  forward  into  a  generation  of  minds  to  which  the 
impossibility  of  such  creatures  is  as  patent  as  that  of 
the  blackness  of  white.  His  verbal  image  of  the  final 
and  futile  death  of  things  or  of  the  distinction  between 
science  and  art  would  suffer  the  same  fate.  Thus 
he  may,  even  as  we  do,  trace  conclusions  to  the 
premises,  or  the  child  to  its  mother,  but  he  cannot 
contemplate  conclusions  developing  into  premises 
nor  resolve  himself  into  a  race  whose  old  men  grow 
through  middle  age  into  childhood. 


THE   KNOWING  65 

Might  he  destroy  himself  ?  But  how  could  the  sum 
of  all  experience  become  no  experience,  leading  ever 
to  no  experience  ?  It  could  not,  then,  have  been  all 
or  even  any  experience.  This  alternative,  beyond 
its  verbal  aspect,  forms  no  subject  of  human  thought ; 
so  let  us  by  all  means  talk  of  three-footed  hens  if 
we  like,  but  not  of  no  experience. 

What  course,  then,  is  open  to  our  perfect  knower  ? 
Clearly  there  is  but  one,  and,  though  named  last,  this 
one  was  to  be  divined  first.  All  experience  is  no 
sooner  gained  than  it  becomes  what  we  may  best 
call  provisionally  the  least  possible  experience,  this 
least  possible  experience  being  that  of  the  inevitable 
change  from  all  experience.  The  perfect  knower 
having  absorbed,  at  least  in  knowledge,  all  that  is 
or  has  been,  these  all-things  possible  will  persist, 
bearing  mutual  relations  as  different  from  perfection 
as  possible  when  retrospectively  considered,  but  as 
similar  to  perfection  as  possible  when  prospectively 
considered.  The  perfect  knower  existed  solely  by 
virtue  of  —  i.e.  his  sole  attribute  was  —  perfect 
experience.  He  was  therefore  identical  with  the 
interrelation  of  this  experience  or  its  parts,  and  now 
becomes  the  least  possible  knower;  and  in  this  re- 
arrangement of  all  that  is,  the  least  possible  ex- 
perience is  gained  indifferently  by  all  that  may 
become  a  knower  in  every  possible  degree  or  by  all 
that  may  become  mutually  known  in  all  possible 
relations. 

F 


66  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

This  identification  of  the  knower  with  his  experi- 
ence, though  logically  derivable  from  the  foregoing 
considerations,  is  a  necessity  which  may  become 
somewhat  more  intelligible  after  we  have  taken  more 
detailed  account  of  the  material  processes  involved. 
Meanwhile  let  us  inquire  if  there  are  any  emotional 
factors  in  the  situation  in  which  the  perfect  knower 
finds  himself.  Pleasure  and  pain,  physical  or  moral, 
having  been  eliminated  except  as  symbols  through  the 
understanding  of  the  basic  process,  it  seems  inevitable 
that  the  perfect  knower  should  contemplate  his 
imminent  metamorphosis  in  a  spirit  of  perfect  com- 
posure. The  work  of  the  universe  is  finished. 
What  remains?  That  the  work  of  the  universe 
should  begin.  The  perfect  knower  must  be  changed 
into  something  that  lacks  even  the  sense  of  an 
amoeba,  but  what  else  could  he  desire?  That  the 
universe  should  begin  midway?  But  then  all  expe- 
rience could  not  be  gained ;  no,  nor  any.  That  his 
forefathers  should  be  spared  some  of  their  suffering 
and  tribulation?  But  nobody  has  ever  known  so 
well  as  he  that  they  could  then  have  nothing  to  call 
by  the  name  of  joy.  He  knows,  furthermore,  that 
by  so  much  as  any  man  has  suffered  above  his  fellows 
in  life,  will  he  be  recompensed  in  the  quality  of  his 
experience  in  the  existence  following  his  apparent 
death ;  that  by  so  much  of  pain  as  another  has  escaped 
through  the  strength  of  his  mind,  his  inherited 
health,  the  ability  of  his  ancestors,  or  through  any 


THE   KNOWING  67 

combination  of  circumstances  to  which  we  give  the 
name  of  chance,  by  so  much  does  his  progress  belong 
to  the  past  and  by  so  much  has  the  future  less  in 
store  for  him.  We  will  not  pause  here  to  discuss 
qualitative  differences  in  experience  during  life  and 
after  death.  Since  this  subject  may  be  more  ad- 
vantageously approached  at  a  later  stage  of  our  in- 
vestigation, we  should  be  content  in  this  connexion 
with  observing  that  the  transition  of  the  perfect 
knower  into  the  least  possible  knower  would  be 
nothing  less,  in  current  phrase,  than  a  measure  of 
self-preservation,  and  that  this  transition  would  be 
accomplished  with  a  smoothness  and  absence  of 
fuss  in  comparison  with  which  the  thorn  in  an  actual 
finger  works  a  veritable  havoc. 

To  proceed  now  to  the  second  and  only  other 
possible  hypothesis  as  to  human  destiny  —  the 
hypothesis  which  corresponds  to  those  earlier  hy- 
potheses, (3),  of  the  oscillation  of  human  activities 
through  egoism  and  altruism: 

"The  achievements  (page  62)  of  the  human  race 
will  have  approached  at  some  period,  past  or  future, 
to  within  a  certain  distance  of  omniscience,  —  which 
distance  may  be  any  between  the  least  we  have  as 
yet  known  and  the  span  of  a  single  new  experience,  — 
beyond  which  no  advance  will  ever  be  made." 

This  hypothesis  is  obviously  to  be  divided  into 
two  alternatives,  of  either  of  which  we  may  form 
at  least  a  verbal  image. 


68  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

(a)  At  some  future  time  it  will  become  evident  that 
an  insuperable  barrier  to  further  progress  is  formed 
by  the  intrinsic  relation  between  knowing  man  and 
that  mass  of  world-happenings  which  might  conceiv- 
ably form  the  subject  of  knowledge.  No  physical 
catastrophe  will  interfere  with  the  indefinite  progress 
of  knowledge,  but  the  nature  of  the  knowable  will 
be  found  to  be  such  that  it  may  not  all  be  known. 
For  example,  a  certain  descendant  of  mine  of  a  bill- 
ion years  hence,  who  has  somehow  managed  to  escape 
the  doom  of  Earth,  will  nevertheless  remain  in  ig- 
norance of  the  daily  life  upon  Earth  of  a  certain 
ancestor  of  mine  of  a  thousand  years  ago,  because 
he  has  no  means  at  his  command  of  bringing  this 
ancestor's  doings  to  light ;  and  at  the  same  time  he 
will  have  the  most  convincing  reasons  for  belief  that 
his  own  descendants  of  a  billion  years  later  will  be 
equally  ignorant  on  the  same  subject. 

(6)  Some  physical  catastrophe  such  as  the  gradual 
devolution *  of  the  material  universe  with  the  conse- 
quent unavailability  of  any  energy,  will  blot  out  the 
human  race  and  everything  else  that  may  be  the 
seat  of  consciousness  before  there  is  time  to  attain 
either  perfect  knowledge  or  the  certainty  that  it  is 
unattainable. 

The  obvious  implication  of  (a),  if  it  be  agreed  that 

1  Throughout  these  enquiries  this  term  will  be  used  in  a  general 
sense,  as  above,  in  preference  to  the  more  usual  term  "dis- 
solution," which,  as  will  later  appear,  would  be  out  of  keeping 
with  the  character  of  the  investigation. 


THE   KNOWING  69 

material  phenomena  may  not  indefinitely  increase 
in  variety,  is  the  eventual  dissolution  of  conscious- 
ness. 

When  we  come  to  test  the  conceivability  of  this 
same  hypothesis,  (a),  —  i.e.  its  capability  of  being 
maintained  in  thought,  —  we  find  that  certain  con- 
siderations of  the  material  world  are  at  once  in- 
volved. At  the  outset,  then,  let  it  be  understood 
that  we  have  not  here  to  discuss  the  doctrine  that 
the  reality  which  manifests  itself  in  mind  is  different 
from  the  reality  which  manifests  itself  in  matter  — 
that  a  thing  cannot  be  aware  of  itself ;  hence  it  must 
be  not-matter  to  which  matter  is  presented.  This 
contention  is  neither  supported  nor  refuted  directly 
by  empirical  evidence,  although  we  shall  see  that 
certain  empirical  evidence  has  led  to  a  conclusion 
which  undermines  the  logical  conceit  on  which  alone 
it  rests  and  on  which  recent  generations  have  been 
unable  to  establish  a  conception  possessing  any  prac- 
tical or  theoretical  value.  In  any  case,  however, 
it  would  seem  impossible  to  deny  that  thought  is 
no  more  perishable  than  the  impulses  emanating 
from  matter ;  that,  as  in  the  world  of  matter, 

"  Thou  canst  not  touch  a  flower 
Without  troubling  of  a  star," 

so  in  the  world  of  thought,  the  lightest  whim,  even 
though  unexpressed,  conditions  both  the  thought 
and  the  material  processes  of  its  own  time  and  of  all 


70  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

time  to  come.  Inasmuch  as  the  material  processes, 
or  the  processes  of  which  they  form  one  manifesta- 
tion, are  the  ulterior  determinants  of  all  thought 
whilst  thoughts  are  the  determinants  of  some  material 
processes,  and  inasmuch  as  Nothing  cannot  be  sup- 
posed to  lie  between  mind  and  matter  nor  between 
any  two  portions  of  mind,  or  of  matter,  or  of  the 
ether,  it  must  be  concluded  that  the  material  pro- 
cesses never  give  an  impulse  to  thought  without 
receiving  from  it  an  impulse  in  return  which  extends 
throughout  their  universe  and  at  once  reacts  through- 
out this  universe  and  through  thought  itself.  The 
effects  of  these  impulses  upon  individual  objects  and 
individual  minds  vary  in  accordance  with  that  past 
experience  of  each  which  has  determined  its  chemical 
composition  or  its  position  with  regard  to  other 
material  objects,  or  its  temperament  in  comparison 
with  other  minds  or  many  another  feature  of  its 
existence.  Some  of  the  resultants  of  these  effects, 
such  as  motion,  energy,  gravity,  or  the  content  of  an 
idea,  we  can  measure  without  knowing  in  the  least 
what  they  are.  Of  other  resultant  effects  we  are 
unconscious ;  but,  apart  from  the  theoretical  neces- 
sity of  the  case,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  inferring 
their  presence  when  we  ask  ourselves  the  following 
questions. 

We  are  undoubtedly  unconscious  of  some  of  the 
factors  in  all  our  sense-impressions  and  in  all  our 
inferences  from  them.     What  are  these  factors  ? 


THE   KNOWING  71 

From  the  material  processes  and  from  the  thought 
of  others  are  undoubtedly  derived  certain  effects 
which  constitute  those  factors  in  our  own  sense- 
impressions  and  inferences  of  which  we  are  indeed 
conscious ;  and  at  the  same  time  certain  other  effects 
are  derived  which  do  not  figure  in  our  conscious 
thought.  Is  it  likely  that  these  last-named  effects 
never  reach  us,  but  pass  one  knows  not  whither, 
whilst  the  factors  in  thought  of  which  we  are  uncon- 
scious have  arrived  one  knows  not  whence  ? 

Now,  it  is  a  further  theoretical  necessity  that  each 
of  these  effects,  whether  of  thought-process  or  of 
matter-process,  instead  of  retaining  the  same  value 
through  all  time,  should  gain  in  efficiency  with  each 
added  moment  of  time,  since  any  event  at  any  mo- 
ment of  time  would  be  determined  by  all  the  events 
of  the  preceding  moment,  each  of  which  in  turn 
would  have  been  determined,  amongst  other  things, 
by  any  particular  earlier  effect  that  we  might  name. 
The  coefficient  of  the  increase  in  efficiency  of  any 
given  effect  (or,  more  strictly,  of  the  sum  of  effects 
directly  derived  from  any  given  effect)  per  moment 
of  time  would,  then,  be  the  number  of  universal 
events  per  moment  of  time.  Every  simple  or 
original  effect  would  continue  throughout  all  time 
to  have  the  same  efficiency  at  any  given  moment 
as  any  other  effect.  Any  effects  of  which  we  may 
take  account  —  i.e.  any  events  —  are,  of  course, 
exceedingly    complex,  —  i.e.    made    up    of    many 


72  THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

effects,  —  and  would  vary  in  relative  practical  im- 
portance, but  each  one  of  them  would,  in  the  sum 
of  its  consequences,  gain  continuously  in  intrinsic 
influence  while  retaining  its  original  degree  of  in- 
fluence relatively  to  other  effects.  The  necessity 
of  this  continuous  gain  in  absolute  efficiency  without 
loss  in  relative  efficiency  will  be  seen  not  only  in  the 
foregoing  considerations,  but  in  the  fact  of  evolution 
itself  which  could  never  have  taken  place  in  any  form 
if  all  series  of  events  were  not  continuously  adding  to 
their  modifying  influence  upon  one  another. 

Instances  of  the  operation  of  this  principle  of  accu- 
mulation are  to  be  met  with  everywhere  in  nature  as 
well  as  in  the  life  of  ideas ;  and  nowhere  is  an  instance 
to  be  found  of  an  opposite  or  different  process.  A 
seed  falling  upon  fallow  ground,  no  matter  whence, 
is  an  event  —  or  culmination  of  many  effects  — 
possessing  universal  implications ;  i.e.  it  is  one  of  the 
determinants  of  all  subsequent  events,  and  all  the 
consequences  of  this  event  react  upon  one  another. 
Now,  this  falling  of  a  seed  may  well  be  the  condition 
precedent  to  the  peopling  of  an  island  within  a  cer- 
tain time.  The  island  populated  bears  a  vastly 
different  relation  to  the  neighbouring  continent,  to 
the  Earth  as  a  whole,  and  to  everything  outside  the 
Earth,  from  the  island  uninhabited.  The  immedi- 
ate effects  of  the  falling  of  the  seed,  though  just  as 
far-reaching,  were  by  no  means  so  varied  or  intense 
—  in  other  words,   so  efficient  for  the  immediate 


THE   KNOWING  73 

further  modification  of  events  —  as  this  one  amongst 
many  resultant  effects.  Instances  of  this  continued 
gain  in  efficiency,  both  in  the  material  processes  and 
in  the  life  of  ideas,  are  so  common  and  obvious  —  at 
all  events,  where  the  process  called  devolution  is 
not  going  on,  and  this  process  was,  by  the  terms  of 
the  subdivision  (a)  of  our  hypothesis,  left  out  of 
account  —  that  no  others  need  here  be  cited. 

One  phase  of  the  process  of  accumulation  is  sum- 
marised in  general  terms  in  the  formula  of  a  certain 
phase  of  evolution.  The  disappearance  of  a  species 
testifies  to  the  increased  diversity  of  general  terres- 
trial or  of  cosmical  processes  for  participation  in 
which  the  species  in  question  is  debarred  by  reason 
of  some  incident  or  incidents  of  its  past  experience. 
Similarly,  a  family  or  separate  race  of  men,  though 
gaining  ever  new  experience,  may  disappear  as  such 
because  of  some  peculiarity  of  their  intermediate 
ancestors,  such  as  physical  inferiority  or  social  rebel- 
liousness, which  led  them  to  go  into  another  country 
or  otherwise  to  provide  for  their  descendants  an 
environment  in  which  they  would,  to  some  extent, 
be  isolated  from  certain  influences  making  for  the 
survival,  for  the  time  being,  of  the  common  run  of 
other  branches  of  the  human  family.  Though  these 
descendants  completely  disappear  as  a  race  or  family, 
it  is  always  their  cousins  who  persist,  generally  with 
increased  advantages,  even  as  every  extinct  species 
of  plant  and  animal  has  its  persistent  avuncular  rep- 


74  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

resentative  upon  Earth,  carrying  somewhere  within 
it  the  record  of  the  exterminating  influence.  In 
another  investigation,  a  more  than  merely  verbal 
analogy  may  occur  to  us  between  organic  evolution 
and  inorganic  devolution. 

A  single  concrete  instance  will  suffice  to  indicate 
the  bearing  of  this  principle  of  accumulation  on  the 
hypothesis  (a)  that  perfect  knowledge  may  never 
be  attained  because  the  nature  of  the  knowable  will 
be  found  to  be  such  that  it  may  not  all  be  known. 
Suppose  a  certain  ancestor  of  mine  on  this  day  just 
a  thousand  years  ago  to  have  conceived  the  idea  that 
he  had  better  confess  to  a  priest.  His  wife,  observing 
the  flutter  of  one  of  his  eyelids,  guesses  what  has 
passed  through  his  mind,  and  makes  her  plans  ac- 
cordingly. This  idea  of  my  ancestor's  is  of  course 
the  resultant  of  all  earlier  effects,  but  may  here  be 
treated  as  if  it  were  a  simple  effect.  By  it  the  men 
and  women  of  the  time  will  have  been  affected  in 
various  wise  according  to  the  present  culmination 
of  the  past  experience  of  each  of  them.  To  most  of 
them  its  effect  will  swell  that  already  prodigious  pre- 
ponderance of  processes  going  on  within  them  and 
without  which  they  are  unable  consciously  to  sep- 
arate into  their  component  parts  —  of  which  they 
are,  as  we  say,  unaware,  although  each  determinant 
of  these  processes  colours  each  of  their  sense-impres- 
sions of  the  moment.  They  could  do  some  separat- 
ing,  those   men  of   a    thousand  years  ago.     They 


THE   KNOWING  75 

separated  hunger  from  thirst,  love  from  hate;  but 
an  effect  that  did  not  jog  some  such  instinct  or  a 
memory  or  give  rise  to  an  actual  sense-impression 
produced  in  them  no  result  measurable  by  themselves 
or  by  their  fellows;  in  other  words,  only  those 
effects,  or  rather  combinations  of  effects,  which 
were  on  a  very  large  scale  and  had  originated  in  suit- 
able places,  could  form  subjects  of  their  conscious 
thought.  The  falling  of  a  stone  or  the  warmth  of 
the  sun's  rays  or  the  power  of  the  church  in  their 
immediate  neighbourhood  they  could  take  account 
of,  but  the  vibration  of  an  atom  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Earth  was  apparently  lost  upon  them.  Never- 
theless, if  x  represent  the  sum  of  effects  immediately 
produced  by  my  ancestor's  thought,  something  like 
(af)  will  be  the  sum  in  the  next  moment  of  time, 
and  something  like  (xx)  xx  will  be  the  sum  in  the  third 
moment,  each  of  these  effects  retaining  the  same 
value  absolutely,  and  the  sum  of  them  retaining  the 
same  value  relatively  to  other  effects,  that  the  origi- 
nal effect  had  in  the  beginning. 

As  for  myself,  a  thousand  years  later,  I  can  tell 
you  no  more  about  my  ancestor  and  his  penitence 
than  any  contemporary  of  his  living  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Earth  could  have  told.  If  his  penitence 
became  famous,  a  neighbour  of  mine  may  even  now 
be  reading  of  it  in  a  book  without,  however,  being 
able  the  better  to  unravel  the  effect  of  it  upon  his 
own  life.     Indeed,  the  point  scored  over  me  in  know- 


76  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

ledge  by  my  neighbour  is  hardly  worth  mentioning ; 
since,  if  the  penitence  in  question  ever  comes  to  be 
well  understood,  it  will  undoubtedly  be  found  to  have 
differed  so  widely  from  the  written  account  of  it  that 
the  book  will  not  be  thought  of  as  an  authority. 

I  am  by  no  means  disposed  to  infer  from  our 
thousand  years  of  added  experience  that  I  and  my 
neighbour  of  to-day  are  necessarily  more  successful 
unravellers  of  the  processes  culminating  in  ourselves 
and  our  age  than  were  many  contemporaries  of  my 
penitent  ancestor.  It  is  an  evolutionary  necessity, 
which  is  far  from  being  denied  in  the  written  history 
of  our  race,  that  a  group  of  knowers  or  thinkers 
should  now  and  then  arise  who,  from  force  of  cir- 
cumstances, might  not  hand  down  to  their  imme- 
diate successors  their  mental  endowments  unim- 
paired and  unhampered,  and  who  must  so  remain 
unexcelled  for  long  generations. 

Let  us  compare  the  practical  aspect  of  this  propo- 
sition with  its  theoretical  aspect. 

Practically,  the  conditions  which  make  possible 
the  thought  of  a  group  of  great  thinkers  cannot  be 
prolonged  for  more  than  a  very  few  generations  of 
men  —  are  often  not  prolonged  beyond  the  span  of 
a  single  generation.  Not  only  must  an  intellectual 
reaction  supervene  when  it  becomes  clear  that  emu- 
lation of  the  great  thinkers  can  result  in  but  little, 
if  any,  advance,  but  the  development  of  material 
needs  always  creates  a  diversion  sooner  or  later. 


THE   KNOWING  77 

Thus  the  son  of  a  poet  may  be  forced  or  tempted  into 
the  pursuit  of  trade  or  of  war,  for  either  of  which 
he  may  by  heredity  be  unfit.  Again,  the  effect  of 
a  great  thinker's  single-handed  contest  with  the  un- 
known may  be  disastrous  to  the  nerves  and  bodily 
health  of  his  offspring. 

It  will  be  observed  that  we  are  here  speaking  of 
"great  thinkers"  in  the  traditional,  which  is  also  the 
evolutionary  but  not  necessarily  the  teleological, 
signification  of  the  term;  i.e.  we  are  judging  them 
by  the  palpable  effects  of  their  activity  upon  the 
evolutionary  process.  For  it  is  our  way  to  overlook 
the  foolish  words  and  deeds  of  a  man  who  has 
performed  some  useful  work;  but  when  in  his  son 
we  find  one  who  not  only  says  and  does  foolish  things 
but  fails  to  say  or  do  anything  useful,  we  cannot 
waste  time  asking  ourselves  if  this  one  is  perhaps 
really  a  higher  embodiment  of  humanity  than  his 
father.  We  are  in  complete  ignorance  of  much  the 
greatest  part  of  what  either  he  or  his  father  embodies, 
but  we  know  at  least  that  the  son  may  indeed  be  a 
blockhead  and  incapable  of  any  greater  contribution 
to  progress  than  a  cow's.  So  we  generally  turn  him 
our  backs,  and  properly  enough,  for  this  attitude  is 
justified  by  the  ethical  consideration  that  it  is  unsafe 
to  make  as  much  of  a  blockhead  as  of  a  sage. 

But,  theoretically,  we  know  that  everything  that 
was  present  in  the  father  must  be  present  in  the 
son  and  with  accumulated  force  —  and  not  only 


78  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

everything  that  was  present  in  his  own  father  but 
everything,  as  well,  that  was  present  in  everybody 
else's  father.  And  from  this  ultra-evolutionary 
necessity  we  conclude  that  heredity  belongs  exclu- 
sively to  the  evolutionary  process  and  is  not  ap- 
plicable for  all  time.  The  son  inherits  from  the 
father  certain  characteristics,  as  grey  eyes  or  a  ten- 
dency to  say  foolish  things,  which  are  apprehensible 
during  that  period  of  universe-history,  or  a  part  of 
it,  to  which  the  principle  of  evolution  may  apply. 
By  far  the  greater  part  of  his  universal  heritage  is 
not  to  be  consciously  perceived  by  us  human  beings 
living  in  the  evolutionary  period  because  the  time 
is  not  yet  ripe;  because  we  have  not  yet  acquired 
ultra-evolutionary  experience  in  sufficient  fulness 
or  variety.  The  portion  of  ultra-evolutionary  ex- 
perience which  we  have  already  acquired  in  con- 
siderable fulness  and  variety  is  that  portion  of  it 
which  has  resulted  in  the  subject  of  all  evolutionary 
considerations:  to  wit,  matter.  And  upon  matter 
depends  heredity;  for  the  existence  of  matter  was 
a  condition  precedent  to  the  existence  of  distances 
between  places.  Thus  the  son  inherits  from  the 
father  locally  or  materially,  because  the  distribution 
of  matter  in  places  —  or  of  matter  and  places  —  has 
made  it  possible  that  a  son  should  issue  from  a  father 
bearing  some  of  his  local  characteristics. 

All  our  acts  furnish  an  analogy  to  the  case  of  he- 
redity.    If  I  fire  a  pistol,  the  ensuing  material  distur- 


THE   KNOWING  79 

bance  is  less  on  the  other  side  of  the  Earth  than  it  is 
in  my  immediate  neighbourhood,  whilst  the  total 
effect  is  the  same  there  as  here.  With  regard  to 
the  whole  life  of  any  son,  before  and  after  death, 
the  importance  of  his  locally  inherited  character- 
istics must  be  trivial  indeed  as  compared  with  those 
transmundane  vibrations  of  my  pistol  shot. 

Until  within  a  very  few  years  men  have  been 
concerned  almost  exclusively  with  matter  —  with 
matter,  be  it  understood,  in  the  widest  sense  of  the 
term ;  i.e.  with  matter  itself,  its  motions,  the  imma- 
terial impulses  set  up  by  these  motions,  the  sense 
impressions  arising  from  these  impulses  in  suitably 
organised  living  things,  the  inevitable  inferences 
derived  from  the  remembrance  and  comparison  of 
these  impressions.  But  the  recent  discovery  that  the 
atoms  of  matter  are  the  resultants  of  processes  some 
of  which,  at  least,  are  immaterial  has  given  an  ex- 
perimental interest  to  considerations  which  had 
hitherto  lain  wholly  within  the  realm  of  theory. 
Experiments  are  slow  and  painful;  sometimes  the 
conclusions  drawn  from  them  constitute  the  most 
retrograde  and  worthless  of  all  theory;  but  they 
are  nevertheless  the  obvious  and  necessary  adjuncts 
of  all  theory:  no  theory  being  possible  that  is  not 
founded  on  experiments;  no  experiments  being 
possible  without  at  least  some  tiny  shred  of  theory. 
Now,  at  all  events,  theory  and  experiment  are 
embarked  together  on  a  voyage  into  the  immaterial 


80  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

in  the  course  of  which,  though  they  may  lose  their 
first  sailing  master,  evolution  will  eventually  be 
left  astern  and  remembered  only  as  a  local  current 
in  the  ocean  of  appearances. 

To  return,  now,  to  the  problem  of  my  penitent 
ancestor:  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  was  the 
evolutionary  value  of  my  position  for  understanding 
him,  as  compared  with  those  of  his  contemporaries. 
Perhaps  my  absorption  of  a  larger  number  of  the 
material  effects  of  his  penitence,  though  adequate 
to  produce  considerable  evolutionary  modifications 
in  our  stock,  would  not,  so  far  as  potential  know- 
ledge is  concerned,  make  up  for  the  considerable  local 
difference  between  our  respective  surroundings, 
since  in  evplutionary  problems  differences  in  time 
often  seem  equivalent  to  distances  in  space.  I 
should  then  be  no  nearer  to  understanding  him  than 
were  his  contemporaries.  And  it  is  certain  that  the 
indefinitely  prolonged  accumulation  of  strictly  evo- 
lutionary effects  could  never  bring  me  nor  anybody 
else  to  a  perfect  understanding  of  him,  it  being  in- 
conceivable that  matter  should  eventually  absorb 
all  that  which  is  now  not-matter. 

But  the  ultra-evolutionary  advantage  of  my  posi- 
tion is  obvious  enough.  My  descendant  of  a  billion 
years  hence  will  be  in  a  still  better  position.  And 
if  sufficient  time  was  granted,  —  and  there  was  no 
restriction  as  to  time  by  its  terms,  —  the  worthless- 
ness  of  the  hypothesis  (a)  under  consideration  would 


THE   KNOWING  81 

be  practically  demonstrated;  the  knowable  would 
be  seen  to  contain  no  element  of  unknowableness; 
and  to  some  far-off  descendant,  or  rather  successor, 
of  mine  would  be  brought  home,  in  all  possible 
relations,  the  penitence  of  my  ancestor  of  a  thousand 
years  ago  whose  own  understanding  of  his  thought 
would,  by  comparison,  be  meagre. 

What  we  now  call  knowledge  or  thought,  investing 
it  with  a  certain  competence  to  deal  with  ultra- 
evolutionary  possibilities,  is  of  course  evolutionary 
in  character,1  and  will  eventually  be  unseated  as 
its  material  constituents  dwindle  and  vanish.  It  is, 
however,  one  resultant  of  processes  which  ultimately 
are  exclusively  ultra-evolutionary.  Its  successor 
will  be  another  such  resultant,  subject  to  different 
conditions  and  more  complex  and  competent  in 
proportion  to  the  difference  in  time.  To  use  another 
figure,  knowledge  will  be  understood  in  these  pages 
as  the  whole  knowing  family,  of  which  our  terrestrial 
and  any  other  evolutionary  knowledge  represent  a 
single  generation. 

The  hypothesis  (a),  then,  is  out  of  the  question, 
and  the  destiny  of  human  activities,  or  of  the  general 
process  of  gaining  new  experience,  must  be  one  of 
two. 

(1)  or  (2)  —  Perfect  knowledge  will  be  attained. 

(3),  (p),  (page  68)  —  Some  physical   catastrophe 

1  Cf.  Chapter  VI. 


82  THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

will  blot  out  the  human  race  and  everything  else 
that  may  be  the  seat  of  consciousness  before  there 
is  time  to  attain  this  perfect  knowledge. 

The  first-named  is  conceivable,  and  some  of  its 
implications  have  already  been  reviewed. 

Upon  the  last-named,  as  upon  its  alternative  (a), 
the  bearing  of  certain  considerations  already  enter- 
tained is  sufficiently  clear,  these  considerations  being 

The  impossibility  of  no  experience. 

The  impossibility,  in  a  universe  to  only  one  phase 
of  whose  processes  the  principle  of  evolution  can 
apply,  —  and  then  only  in  the  character  of  a  con- 
venient symbol  invented  by  beings  themselves  evo- 
lutionary, —  that  universal  devolution  should  ever 
take  place. 

As  I  have  stated  in  the  preface,  the  investigation 
recorded  in  this  chapter  is  not  to  be  carried  into  the 
material  world  in  its  loneliness  —  i.e.  as  it  may 
appear  to  exist  or  have  existed  apart  from  knowing 
man.    This  is  reserved  for  the  next  chapter. 

The  results  of  the  investigation  just  completed 
should,  I  think,  be  sufficiently  clear.  The  knowing 
and  their  knowledge  are  Change;  the  subject-matter 
of  knowledge  —  which  is  ultimately  the  same  thing 
as  knowledge  itself  —  is  illusion.  One  illusion  re- 
places another  in  that  order  which  will  be  recognised 
by  omniscience,  or  the  sum  of  illusions,  to  have  been 
determined  by  reality  or  the  impossible. 


THE   KNOWING  83 

The  necessity  of  the  finitude  of  knowledge  and  its 
subject-matter  has  already  been  stated  a  number 
of  times.  How  it  may  be  finite  has  also  been  stated 
in  general  terms.  In  the  next  chapter  will  be  under- 
taken a  more  particular  account  of  the  manner  of 
this  finitude. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE 

No  apology  seems  necessary  for  the  symbols  or 
the  treatment  of  them  set  forth  in  this  chapter. 
The  philosopher  may  accept,  nay  demand,  a  unit 
of  space  and  a  unit  of  time,  furthermore  a  unit  of 
substance  in  motion ;  but  when  he  attempts  to  treat 
of  these  unknown  existences  with  a  view  to  deriving 
from  them  the  apparent  universe,  he  soon  finds  that 
the  sciences  of  physics  and  mathematics  are  inade- 
quate to  the  task.  Yet,  though  he  be  prepared  to 
admit  that  these  sciences  have  perhaps  no  ultimate 
value  but  are  useful  only  in  describing  matter  as 
it  affects  the  five  senses  of  man,  he  is  nevertheless 
forced  to  work,  if  at  all,  with  symbols  which  are  to 
some  extent  susceptible  of  physical  and  mathematical 
treatment,  since  everything  contained  in  his  percep- 
tual experience  is  susceptible  of  such  treatment, 
and  anything  not  so  contained  could  not  be  defined 
in  the  terms  of  language.  Only  in  such  wise,  by 
indirection,  may  he  hope  to  come  to  any  compre- 
hension of  that  which  he  cannot  directly  refer  to 
anything  contained  in  his  experience. 

These  considerations  will  so  often  reappear  in  the 

84 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE  85 

course  of  this  chapter  that  further  definition  of  them 
may  for  the  moment  be  dispensed  with. 

Nor  have  I  thought  I  need  discuss  at  length  a 
question  which  has  been  so  often  discussed  before  and 
always  with  the  same  result:  to  wit,  the  influence 
upon  our  daily  lives  of  the  intrusion  of  such  funda- 
mental questions  as,  What  is  the  universe?  The 
well-known  protest,  "When  so  many  needs  are 
pressing,  why  should  I  bother  my  head  with  consider- 
ations so  remote?"  meets  with  the  inevitable  reply, 
"But  you  can't  help  bothering  your  head  with  them." 
That  "man  is  a  born  metaphysician"  and  that  the 
most  obvious  of  all  questions  is,  "Whence  this  great 
world?"  has  been  recognised  by  the  cultivated  and 
by  the  savage  of  all  times  of  which  we  have  know- 
ledge. Men  put  the  question  from  them  or  eagerly 
attack  it  with  varying  persistence  and  satisfaction. 
If  the  standard  of  achievement  be  the  highest  prac- 
tical efficiency  of  an  individual  life  that  terminates 
with  death,  its  repeated  intrusion  is  often  not  a 
help  but  a  hindrance;  if  the  standard  of  achieve- 
ment be  the  progress  of  a  race,  the  relatively  suc- 
cessful evasion  of  it  is  without  positive  significance 
and,  as  a  practice,  is  doubtless  foredoomed  to 
desuetude. 

Trusting,  then,  that  the  reader  has  already  been 
convinced  by  my  notable  predecessors  of  my  right, 
or  any  other's,  to  attack  the  problem  of  the  universe 
and  to  begin  either  with  particular  appearances  or 


86  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

with  general  principles,  I  shall  endeavour  to  point 
out  what  I  believe  to  be  at  present  the  most  promis- 
ing line  of  attack  as  well  as  the  most  obvious  con- 
ditions of  any  attack  conducted  along  this  line. 

Certain  assumptions  in  respect  of  the  universe  are 
frequently  made  —  and  by  universe  will  be  under- 
stood the  sum  of  all  things  known  and  unknown  — 
which  are  capable  of  disproof  by  any  who  will  put 
to  themselves  any  one  of  a  number  of  different  series 
of  obvious  questions.  But  to  most  of  us  nothing  is 
more  abhorrent  than  an  obvious  question.  For  the 
more  obvious  it  is,  the  more  swiftly  does  it  come  into 
a  conflict  of  implications  with  an  obvious  fact.  The 
tumult  that  ensues  is  indescribable,  and  generally 
a  moral  is  drawn  from  it. 

In  the  enquiry  here  to  be  undertaken  the  implica- 
tions of  these  ill-starred  postulates  will  not  be  re- 
viewed in  detail :  such  a  review  would  contain  nothing 
essential  beyond  the  considerations  presented  in  the 
earlier  chapters.  The  postulates  themselves  will 
be  mentioned  together  with  some  of  the  obvious 
reasons  for  rejecting  them;  and  the  only  remaining 
postulate  that  has  ever  been  heard  of  will  then  be 
set  up  as  a  subject  of  discussion.  This  remaining 
postulate  is  a  wayward  kind  of  creature  somewhat 
difficult  to  confine  within  the  terms  of  language. 
Nevertheless,  its  implications  may  be  maintained  in 
thought  and  in  verbal  discussion;    and  the  purpose 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE  87 

of  this  enquiry  is  to  discover,  if  possible,  how  they 
may  work  out  practically. 

Infinity  of  space  and  time  is  an  assumption  which 
not  only  leads  to  nothing  satisfactory  but  involves 
us  in  contradictions  at  the  very  outset.  Since  space 
and  time  are  apparent  conditions  of  all  known 
actions,  it  seems  impossible  to  assert  that  they  must 
remain  in  the  sum  for  ever  unknowable  without  in 
the  same  breath  renouncing  the  right  to  make  any 
assertion  or  guess  about  them,  positive  or  negative. 

But  is  an  assumption  of  finitude,  such  as  we 
associate  with  the  objects  of  common  experience, 
more  feasible  ?  If  we  assert  that  the  universe  is  one 
day  to  be  destroyed  even  as  a  soap  bubble  at  a 
touch  of  the  hand,  how  can  we  attribute  any  sig- 
nificance to  time  as  a  whole  or  to  that  day  of  destruc- 
tion in  particular  ?  In  respect  of  space,  a  finite  uni- 
verse is  generally  conceived  as  having  a  geometrical 
form.  The  surrounding  Nothing  must,  then,  have 
a  boundary  or  outline.  But  an  attribute  so  definite 
as  outline  seems  impossible  to  predicate  of  Nothing, 
for  how  shall  we  believe  that  anything  may  have  an 
apparent  outline  if  Nothing  may  have  a  real  one  ? 

The  only  issue  from  this  dilemma  seems  to  lie 
in  the  assumption  of  a  universe  in  which,  on  the  one 
hand,  new  space  and  new  time  are  not  indefinitely 
realisable,  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  never 
have  had  beginning  nor  end  nor  geometrical  form. 


88  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

Now,  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  thought  improperly 
facetious  if  I  observe  that  this  problem  of  the  uni- 
verse is  one  to  be  approached  with  a  feeling  of  great 
respect.  At  all  events,  my  appeal  is  made  seriously, 
and  I  regard  it  as  by  no  means  superfluous.  For  I 
have  remarked  in  many  people  (final-causationists 
amongst  them)  who  pretend  to  an  interest  in  funda- 
mental questions  a  pronounced  tendency  to  accept 
provisionally  such  explanations  of  the  universe  and 
of  matter  as  are  most  readily  comprehensible  with 
reference  to  objects  of  common  experience.  But  hu- 
man science  is  already  in  a  position  to  aver  that 
it  is  just  such  explanations  as  are  most  concretely 
comprehensible  that  may  to  best  advantage  be  re- 
jected —  and  rejected  not  provisionally  but  finally. 

Faith  in  the  competence  of  our  five  senses  to  ap- 
prehend any  portion  of  ultimate  reality  has  per- 
force been  gradually  abjured  by  those  who  would 
gain  some  understanding  of  the  constitution  of 
matter.  It  is  an  attitude  at  once  more  humble  and 
more  energetic  that  has  been  productive  of  our 
knowledge  that  the  units  of  which  matter  is  com- 
posed, whatever  they  may  really  be,  do  at  least  bear 
utterly  no  resemblance  to  matter  as  apprehended 
in  the  objects  of  common  experience;  that,  though 
there  must  be  a  correspondence  between  the  various 
apparent  forms  of  matter  and  the  atoms  of  which 
they  are  composed,  the  idea  of  resemblance  —  with 
reference  to  our  sense-perceptions  —  is  not  to  be 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE  89 

thought  of  in  connexion  with  this  relation,  since 
none  of  these  atoms  have  ever  been,  nor  could  ever 
be,  perceived  by  any  of  our  senses.  The  com- 
petent investigator  is  not  discouraged  by  the  fact 
that  a  drawing  or  model  of  an  atom  cannot  now  nor 
ever  will  be  made.  He  knows  a  good  deal  about  the 
atom,  may  represent  it  partially  in  thought:  it  is 
an  old  friend.  But  one  who  looks  at  matter  ex- 
clusively from  the  view-point  of  immediate  con- 
cerns —  one  who  regards  his  five  senses  as  presum- 
ably more  than  merely  ephemeral  and  theoretically 
clumsy  implements  of  knowledge  —  is  ipso  facto 
incapable  of  adding  to  our  present  knowledge  of  the 
constitution  of  matter. 

What  has  been  demonstrated  of  the  relation  of 
our  sense-perceptions  to  the  constitution  of  matter 
seems  inevitably  true  of  their  relation  to  the  basic 
problem,  the  nature  of  the  ultra- material  universe. 
From  whatever  point  of  view  we  approach  this  prob- 
lem we  become  conscious,  sooner  or  later,  of  an 
inability  to  conceive  the  universe  or  its  cause  as 
having  a  geometrical  form,  which  is  the  only  kind 
of  form  contained  in  our  experience.  We  must, 
then,  ask  ourselves,  Is  any  conception  of  the  uni- 
verse possible  at  the  present  time  which,  though 
failing  of  correspondence  to  any  sense-perception, 
may  nevertheless  be  maintained  in  thought?  And 
in  response  it  would  seem  that  recourse  must  be 
had  to  the  now  familiar  hypothesis  of  a  measurable 


90  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

space  or  universe  of  dimensions  other  than  three  in 
number.1 

At  first  glance  this  hypothesis  has  a  promising 
look.  The  very  fact  that  I  can  gain  no  idea  of  what 
an  ungeometrical  universe  would  look  like,  no  matter 
how  severely  I  strain  my  geometrical  imagination, 
is  a  point  in  its  favour.  If  it  had  a  shape,  I  should 
know  it  could  not  be  real;  and  whatever  it  may 
indeed  be  like,  I  know  that  the  most  meagre  concep- 
tion I  may  gain  of  it  must  be  forced  upon  me  against 
most  of  my  strongest  habits  of  thought.  For  the 
book  of  the  universe  is  not  waiting  to  be  suddenly 
flung  open  by  the  hand  of  genius  and  read  off  to  us 
in  a  day  or  in  a  thousand  years.  It  is  to  be  learned 
painfully,  correction  following  upon  inference,  word 
after  reluctant  word  being  wrested  from  long  pages 
of  meaningless  characters. 

Whether,  according  to  the  hypothesis  that  I  am 
considering,  I  assume  space  to  have  four  dimensions 
or  six  or  a  multitude  or  only  one,  is  of  little  moment 
at  the  outset  of  my  enquiry,  since  I  cannot  refer  any 
of  these  assumptions  to  an  accomplished  sense-im- 
pression.   The  points  of  immediate  importance  about 

1 1  am  not  conversant  with  the  mass  of  astronomical  evidence 
tending  to  show  that  space  may  be  ungeometrical,  nor  would  I  in 
any  case  undertake  to  handle  such  evidence.  Moreover,  I  wish 
to  bring  first  under  consideration  not  the  possibility  that  space 
may  be  demonstrated  ungeometrical,  but  some  of  the  implica- 
tions of  a  universe  in  which  it  is  assumed  that  space  is  ungeo- 
metrical. 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE  91 

this  supposed  universe  are  that  it  has  no  surface  and 
no  centre;  that  it  contains  a  definite  amount  of 
space ;  that  in  it  any  two  bodies  which,  after  meeting 
and  separating,  move  persistently  in  such  a  way  as 
to  get  as  far  away  as  possible  from  the  place  of  meet- 
ing, will  eventually  meet  again;  that  in  it  our 
geometrical  conceptions,  if  they  are  to  be  evolved  l 
at  all,  must  be  the  resultants  of  ungeometrical  pro- 
cesses. For  the  convenience  of  having  a  name,  I 
will  call  this  the  universe  of  one  dimension. 

Now,  if  I  assume  time  to  be  a  definite,  knowable 
reality,  —  no  matter,  for  the  moment,  whether  in- 
dependent, nor  what  its  duration  may  be,  —  and  if 
I  further  assume  the  universe  of  one  dimension  to 
be  entirely  filled  with  (i.e.  to  consist  of)  a  continuous, 
homogeneous  substance  such  as  we  may  conceive 
the  ether  to  be,  I  find  at  once  that  a  number  of 
things  may  be  said  about  such  a  universe.  Instead 
of  seeing  predications  and  inferences  developing 
rapidly  into  absurdities,  as  in  the  case  of  a  geomet- 
rical or  of  an  infinite  universe,  I  find  that  I  can  pro- 
ceed some  distance  with  the  one-dimension  universe 
without  encountering  any  serious  danger.  I  pro- 
pose now  to  enquire  what  would  seem  to  be  thus 
logically  predicable  of  such  a  universe. 

I  assume,  then,  that  there  existed  at  a  certain  time 

1  In  this  chapter  the  words  "evolve"  and  "evolution  "  are 
obviously  used  in  their  widest  sense,  without  reference  to  any- 
specific  doctrine  of  evolution. 


92  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

in  the  past  a  universe  which,  as  a  whole  or  in  any  part, 
was  devoid  of  geometrical  form  and  which  consisted  of 
a  measurable  amount  of  a  continuous,  homogeneous 
substance. 

Though  this  postulate  may  prove  to  contain  within 
itself  the  necessity  of  modification  of  its  own  terms, 
I  can  at  least  promise  that  throughout  the  ensuing 
discussion  nothing  will  be  assumed  further  than  is 
comprehended  within  these  terms. 

If  the  assumed  universe-substance  —  which  we 
may  conveniently  call  the  cosmon  —  is  measurable, 
we  may  treat  it  as  consisting  of  a  definite  number  of 
its  ultimate  units,  or  cosmoids,  which  are  likewise 
the  units  of  space,  all  space  being  filled  with  the 
cosmon. 

Similarly,  if  the  cosmon  is  continuous,  each  cos- 
moid  forms  a  part  of  a  definite  number  of  continuous 
lines  of  cosmoids  —  cosmic  lines  or  cosmic  diameters 
—  passing  through  all  other  cosmoids  and  returning 
to  the  original  cosmoid.  In  no  case  could  a  cosmic 
line  pass  between  two  cosmoids,  embracing  parts  of 
each, — as  it  would  appear  to  do  in  any  geometrically 
graphic  representation,  —  because  the  cosmoids  are 

of  necessity  indivisible.  In  the 
diagram  (Fig.  1)  let  the  cosmoid 
c  be  adjacent  to  both  b  and  d, 
and  let  the  cosmic  lines,  or  sec- 
tions of  cosmic  diameters,  ab,  ac,  and  ad,  contain 
the  same  number  of  cosmoids.     One  cosmoid  in  each 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE  93 

line  will,  then,  be  adjacent  to  a,  and  another  will  be 
adjacent  to  b,  c,  and  d  respectively. 

In  a  continuous  cosmon  having  no  surface  and  no 
centre  it  is  not  conceivable  that  any  two  cosmic 
diameters  should  have  unequal  lengths.  Such  in- 
equality would  at  once  give  to  our  universe  a  geo- 
metrical character ;  it  would  further  imply  that  one 
cosmoid  might  be  connected  by  its  lines  of  adjacency 
with  more  cosmoids  than  might  one  of  its  fellows. 
But  according  to  our  assumption,  each  cosmoid  must 
be  connected  with  every  other  cosmoid;  hence  all 
cosmic  diameters  must  contain  the  same  number  of 
cosmoids. 

If,  then,  we  represent  by  U  the  number  of  cos- 
moids in  the  universe,  and  by  D  the  number  of  cos- 
moids contained  in  a  cosmic  diameter,  it  follows  that 

j?  equals  the  number  of  cosmic  lines  meeting  in  each 

2  U 
cosmoid,  and  that  -yr-  equals  the  number  of  cos- 
moids adjacent  to  each  cosmoid. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  intersection  of  cosmic  lines 
forms  something  different  from  a  geometrical  angle ; 
since,  if  prolonged  far  enough  in  either  direction, 
the  lines  will  meet  again.  Moreover,  they  neither 
diverge  nor  converge,  but  are  always  the  same 
number  of  cosmoids  distant  from  one  another  save 
in  the  cosmoid  which  they  have  in  common. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  cosmoids  as  differing  from 


94  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

one  another,  not  as  being  identical  in  such  a  way  as 
to  make  of  the  universe  one  cosmoid.  Yet  they 
cannot  differ  in  constitution,  since  the  cosmon  is 
homogeneous;  nor  in  size,  since  each  of  them  is 
the  smallest  portion  of  a  measurable  universe. 
Consequently  they  cannot  differ  in  mass  nor  in  weight 
nor  in  any  of  the  peculiar  attributes  of  matter. 
Clearly,  then,  they  may  differ  only  in  position.  And 
it  might  reasonably  be  doubted  if  units  so  exactly 
alike  and  constituting  the  sum  of  all  things  could 
differ  even  in  position,  were  it  not  for  a  further 
obvious  consideration. 

The  cosmoids,  to  exist,  must  be  doing  something. 
Not  only  is  it  matter  of  certain  knowledge  that  every- 
thing contained  in  our  experience,  whether  matter, 
ether,  or  mind,  is  in  a  state  of  ceaseless  agitation, 
but  it  is  impossible  even  to  assume  anything  to  be  in 
a  state  of  rest  without  soon  becoming  aware  that  its 
assumed  reality  is  vanishing.  Eventually  it  dis- 
appears from  consciousness,  destroying  our  belief 
in  its  former  existence.  Thus,  though  we  can 
assume  a  moving,  ungeometrical  universe  which 
corresponds  to  nothing  that  we  have  ever  perceived, 
and  maintain  it  in  imperfect  contemplation,  believing 
that  it  may  possibly  evolve  our  familiar  geometrical 
conceptions,  any  unmoving  universe,  geometrical 
or  ungeometrical,  that  we  may  assume,  will  speedily 
fade  from  our  consciousness  and  end  with  denying 
either  its  own  existence  or  the    competence  of  all 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE  95 

human  judgments,  however  partial.  Since  the  exist- 
ence of  an  unknowable  and  extra-universal  mind 
such  as,  in  realising  a  state  of  rest,  would  inevitably 
repudiate  all  connexion  with  men  and  things,  is  a 
conception  which  cannot  be  maintained  in  the  minds 
of  these  same  men  otherwise  than  verbally,  we  may 
proceed  in  the  conviction  that  the  existence  of  any- 
thing which  concerns  men  in  any  way,  however  re- 
motely, implies  its  motion.  And  in  the  case  of  our 
assumed  cosmon,  any  cosmoid  that  remained  for  any 
length  of  time  at  rest  could  not  be  regarded  as 
existing,  nor  could  any  of  the  other  cosmoids,  which 
are  exactly  like  this  one  in  every  respect  save  that 
one  which  depends  upon  their  motion,  be  so  regarded. 
If,  then,  our  cosmoids  exist,  they  must  all  be  in 
motion  and  must  continue  in  motion  so  long  as  they 
continue  to  exist.  Position  thus  becomes  intelligi- 
ble as  the  attribute  possessed  by  each  cosmoid  in 
virtue  both  of  its  own  motion  and  of  the  motion  of 
every  other  cosmoid. 

We  are  now  confronted  with  the  question,  Of  what 
kinds  of  motion  are  the  cosmoids  capable?  We 
have  seen  that  they  differ  from  one  another  only  in 
respect  of  position,  and  it  was  with  reference  to  their 
positions  that  we  represented  them  by  the  letters 
a,  b,  c,  etc.  The  necessary  persistence  of  their  move- 
ments means  that  each  cosmoid  will  have  a  career 
different  from  that  of  every  other  cosmoid.  But 
in  what  can  their  careers  consist  ?    They  cannot  sub- 


96  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

divide  nor  increase  in  size  nor  alter  their  constitution. 
Can  they  rotate  upon  their  axes?  Even  supposing 
that  the  smallest  possible  thing  could  have  an  axis 
with  two  poles,  an  indefinitely  prolonged  rotation  of 
all  these  units  would  ultimately  amount  to  a  state 
of  rest.  Can  they  vibrate  after  the  manner  of  an 
elastic  sphere  or  ring  ?  Obviously  there  is  no  room 
in  the  one-dimension  universe  for  such  vibration 
which  again  would  be  deprived  of  reality  by  the 
levelling  hand  of  time.  Can  they  combine  ?  Closer 
combination  than  already  exists  in  a  continuous 
substance  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Clearly  there  is 
but  one  kind  of  motion  possible  for  them,  and  that 
is  change  of  position. 

Time,  according  to  our  assumption,  is  a  measur- 
able reality  composed  of  units  which  we  may  here 
call  kinemas,  or,  successively,  Kl,  K  2,  K  3,  etc.,  K 1 
being  that  moment  of  time  at  which  we  have  chosen 
to  begin  our  consideration  of  the  one-dimension 
universe.  The  kinema  is,  then,  that  portion  of  time 
in  which  the  least  of  events  may  take  place ;  and  in 
the  case  of  the  cosmon  the  least  possible  event  is  the 
movement  of  U  cosmoids  a  distance  of  one  cosmoid. 
Whatever  may  be  the  total  duration  of  time,  it  is  at 
all  events  certain  that  in  each  kinema  every  cosmoid 
would  move  a  distance  of  one  cosmoid. 

We  have  not  treated  the  cosmoids  at  the  time  of 
which  we  are  speaking  as  having  had  any  earlier 
career  or  as  being  endowed  with  any  other  attribute 


THE   FICTION   OF   A  UNIVERSE  97 

than  the  essential  necessity  to  move.  We  must 
therefore  believe  that  their  earliest  motions  will  be 
of  the  simplest  character ;  for  it  is  hardly  supposable 
that  cosmoids  utterly  lacking  in  experience  of  a 
world  such  as  we  live  in  should  set  out  to  imitate  in 
their  motions  the  forms  with  which  we  are  familiar 
in  nature,  —  a  leaf,  a  cloud,  a  curve,  or  a  straight 
line.  What  there  may  be  in  an  ungeometrical  uni- 
verse simpler  than  motion  in  a  curve  or  in  a  straight 
line  could  not,  of  course,  be  referred  to  any  actual 
perception ;  but  if  we  consider  some  conceivable  mo- 
tions of  cosmoids  in  the  earlier  kinemas,  we  may  be 
able  to  represent  some  of  the  simple  ones  in  thought. 
In  our  first  consideration  of  cosmic  motions  we  need 
not  approach  the  question  of  the  ultimate  nature  of 
the  cosmoid,  —  which  will  soon  be  forced  upon  us,  — 
but  may  proceed  strictly  upon  our  assumption  that 
the  cosmoid  is  the  imperishable  smallest  portion  of 
the  universe-substance. 

In  K 1  —  no  matter  how,  for  the  moment  —  let 
six  cosmoids  come  into  adjacent  positions  in  a 
cosmic  line,  as  shown  in  Figure  2;  and  in  K2  let 
them  take  new  positions,  as  in  Figure  3.     If  in  K  3, 

2  U 
having  each    -=r-  cosmoids  for  neighbours,  they  go 

back  to  their  old  positions  of  Figure  2,  and  the 
cosmoids  of  adjacent  cosmic  lines  do  likewise,  they 
are  assuredly  not  real  cosmoids.  We  can  no  more 
conceive  of  the  continued  existence  of  a  universe 


98  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

in  which  took  place  an  indefinite  oscillation  of  its 
units,  as  shown  in  Figures  2  and  3,  than  we  could 

6  c  a  b  d  f 

Fig..  2 


b  a  f  d 

Fig.  3 


e         ®         b  e  f  a         (g)        d 

Fig.  4 

ourselves  continue  to  exist  if  the  sum  of  our  experi- 
ence was  the  contemplation  of  a  blank  wall  with  a 
spot  on  it.  If  the  cosmoid  a  exists  only  by  virtue 
of  its  ability  to  change  its  position,  it  cannot,  having 
once  experienced  a  change  with  b,  change  back 
again,  thus  showing  a  contradictory  tendency  towards 
what  is  ultimately  equivalent  to  a  state  of  rest. 
If  a  cosmoid  exists,  it  makes  a  change  of  position ;  if 
it  still  exists,  its  next  move  will  not  be  the  move  of 
all  moves  most  likely  to  destroy  the  significance  of 
its  previous  move  and  so  to  disprove  its  own  exist- 
ence, but  rather  the  move  of  all  moves  least  likely 
ultimately  to  have  this  result.  In  K3,  the  most 
obvious  second  move  of  each  cosmoid  would  seem 
to  be  in  the  same  cosmic  line  as  its  first  move,  and 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE  99 

to  a  position  as  far  removed  as  possible  from  its 
position  of  the  first  kinema.  Not  that  a  cosmoid  is 
supposed  to  have  what  we  call  the  property  of  inertia, 
nor  the  power  nor  the  need  to  explain  the  exigencies 
of  its  situation.  Being  a  cosmoid,  it  is  essentially 
able  and  prone  to  shun  a  neighbour  of  which  it  has 
had  recent  experience.  Thus,  if  Figures  2  and  3 
represent  a  portion  of  the  happenings  of  K  2,  the 
cosmoids  taking  part  in  them  will  in  K  3  take  new 
positions,  as  shown  in  Figure  4;  and  in  succeeding 
kinemas  will  continue  in  the  same  cosmic  line.    At 

the  end  of  —  —  1  kinemas  all  the  cosmoids  of  this  line 

would  find  themselves  confronted  by  their  earliest 
associates  in  the  manner  indicated  in  Figure  5.  If  c 
and  d  then  changed  places  «*_-_»       ^_ 

with  a  and  b,  respectively,      a         c         d         b 
they  would  be  inaugurating  Flg#  5 

a  cosmical  revolution  of  which  every  kinema  would 
be  equivalent  to  the  corresponding  kinema  of  the 
oscillation  supposed  in  connexion  with  Figures  2  and 
3,  and  which  in  its  entirety  would  amount  to  a 
state  of  rest.     In  the  next  kinema,  each  cosmoid 

would,  then,  move  into  one  of  the  yr — 1  new  cosmic 

lines  that  lay  open  to  it;  and,  after  this  first  devia- 
tion, might  conceivably  continue  in  the  new  cosmic 

line  for  the  most  part,  if  not  all,  of  —  kinemas. 

Li 


100        THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

Motion  in  cosmic  lines  seems,  then,  to  be  the  first 
and  simplest  motion  in  a  universe  of  which  the 
units  possess  but  the  one  property,  if  we  may  call 
it  such,  of  motion,  and  in  which  the  only  motion 
possible  is  change  of  relative  positions.     In  such 
wise  we  may  conceive  them  proceeding  on   their 
several  journeys,  only  now  and  then  being  forced 
to  turn  aside  from  the  simple  course.     The  world  is 
young,  and  there  is  an  immense  field  to  be  explored 
by  these  restless  spirits.    We  may  call  them  free 
rovers;    for,    even   though   we   may   believe   their 
roving  to  be  limited  by  their  nature  in  all  respects, 
as  we  have  already  seen  it  to  be  in  some  respects, 
the  fact  that  we  are  in  absolute  darkness  as  to  the 
happenings  of  any  single  kinema  gives  an  appearance 
of  freedom  to  the  choice  of  one  amongst  a  vast  number 
of  what  look  to  be  equally  feasible  actions;   and  we 
may  therefore  speak  of  their  roving  as  free  until 
such  time  as  we  may  find  them  face  to  face  with  an 
obvious  limitation,  even  as  we  speak  of  our  own 
motions  as  free  until  we  are  confronted  with  an 
obvious  limitation  such  as  hunger  or  an  unscalable 
wall  or  an  unfordable  stream.     For  example,  given 
a  cosmoid  situated  as  is  c  in  Figure  5  with  a  recently 
used  cosmoid   d  directly  behind  it  and  a  less   re- 
cently used  cosmoid  a  directly  in  front  of  it;   any 
attempt  on  our  part  to  ascertain  the  exact  nature  of 
c's   next   move   would   obviously   be   futile.     The 
property  of  motion  possessed  by  c  may  be  spoken  of 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         101 

as  an  ability  to  profit  by  experience;  without  this 
ability,  that  first  move  in  K  2  —  whether  really  its 
first  move  or  not  —  would  have  been  impossible. 
Then  c  would,  in  the  position  represented  in  Figure 
5,  shun  both  d  and  a,  taking  a  position  in  a  new  cos- 
mic line  which  would  be  distant  from  d  and  a,  re- 
spectively, in  proportion  to  the  relative  degrees  of 
menace  to  c's  existence  represented,  according  to 
c's  experience,  by  the  proximity  of  these  two  familiar 
cosmoids.     If  we  suppose  this  situation  to  have 

arisen  at  a  much  later  period  in  c's  life  than  —  kine- 

mas  from  K 1,  c  would  meanwhile  have  had  the 
frequent  experience  that  a  less  recently  used  cosmoid 
brings  with  it  a  more  congenial  following  than  a 
more  recently  used  cosmoid.  Then  c  would  take  a 
position  more  distant  from  d  than  from  a;  and  its 
new  position  would  be  determined  by  its  experience 
of  the  relative  degrees  of  recentness  of  its  alliances 
with  d  and  with  a. 

The  question  of  the  cosmoid 's  real  nature  now 
forces  itself  upon  our  consideration.  If  c  were  a 
human  brain,  its  memory  would  doubtless  be  quite 
inadequate  as  a  basis  for  so  nice  discriminations  as 
we  have  supposed  it  to  exercise.  But  c,  by  assump- 
tion, is  not  a  humanly  knowing  creature;  and  its 
so-called  ability  to  profit  by  experience  and  to  dis- 
tinguish between  cosmoids  exactly  alike  in  size, 
shape,  and  constitution  is  a  manner  of  speaking 


102         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

which  may  indeed  be  found  useful  in  the  course  of 
this  enquiry,  but  only  after  a  more  rigorous  defini- 
tion has  been  attempted  of  the  sole  and  essential 
property  of  the  cosmoid. 

If  c  and  a  were  spheres  or  cubes  or  portions  of  a 
straight  line,  the  supposition  of  their  mutual  recog- 
nition and  avoidance  would  be  of  no  value  even 
as  a  symbolical  representation  of  their  real  per- 
formance. But,  instead  of  any  of  these  things, 
each  of  them  in  K 1  became  a  portion  of  a  certain 
line  containing  D  cosmoids  and  having  no  beginning 
and  no  end.    This  being  the  case,  it  is  obvious  that 

2  U 
all  the  -=p  cosmoids  adjacent  to  c  occupied  different 

positions  with  reference  both  to  c  and  to  one  another. 
And  no  cosmoid  adjacent  to  a  could  occupy  the  same 
position  with  reference  to  a  that  any  cosmoid  oc- 
cupied with  reference  to  c.  Hence  all  cosmoids  in 
the  line  in  question  occupied  different  positions 
with  reference  to  c  and  to  one  another  by  virtue 
of  their  differences  with  reference  to  the  adjacent 

cosmoids.     But  there  are  yr  cosmic  lines  of  which 

c  is  a  portion,  and  these  -=:  lines  contain  all  the  cos- 
moids of  the  universe.  Thus  every  cosmoid  differs 
in  position  from  every  other  cosmoid,  not  as  we  con- 
ceive position  geometrically  with  reference  always  to 
some  fixed  object,  but  with  reference  both  to  its 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         103 

own  motion  and  to  the  motion  of  every  other  cos- 
moid.  This  means  that  no  cosmoid  can  ever  occupy 
the  same  position  that  another  cosmoid  has  occupied ; 
and  that  no  cosmoid  can  ever  again  occupy  a  position 
that  it  has  abandoned  until  itself  and  every  other 
cosmoid  in  the  universe  have  returned  to  the  posi- 
tions they  occupied  immediately  before  its  occupa- 
tion of  the  position  in  question.  For  example,  c 
cannot  again  occupy  its  position  of  K  1  until  itself 
and  all  other  cosmoids  have  returned  to  the  positions 
they  occupied  before  K  1. 

Let  us  consider  this  aspect  of  the  career  of  c 
travelling,  as  we  have  chosen  to  say,  in  its  original 
cosmic  line.  This  cosmic  line,  as  we  have  seen, 
existed  of  necessity;  but  that  any  cosmoid  should 
actually  travel  in  it  is  at  once  seen  to  be  an  impos- 
sibility. For  no  sooner  have  c,  a,  etc.,  made  their 
first  moves  in  K  2  (Figs.  2  and  3)  than  this  cosmic 
line  has  ceased  to  exist  and  a  new  cosmic  line  has  ap- 
peared that  never  existed  before.  If  we  regard  the 
cosmoids  that  formed  the  old  line  as  still  existing, 
we  must  at  the  same  time  observe  that  each  of  them 

2  U 
is  adjacent  to  — =r-  cosmoids  none  of  which  occupy 

the  same  relative  positions  with  reference  to  it  that 

2  U 
were  occupied  by  any  of  the  earlier  set  of  -=r-   ad- 
jacent cosmoids.     For  example,  /is  not  in  the  same 
position  with  reference  to  a  as  was  b  in  the  preceding 


104         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

kinema.  Both  /  and  b  at  any  time  have  position 
with  reference  both  to  their  own  motions  and  to  the 
motions  of  their  adjacent  cosmoids.  Since  their 
adjacent  cosmoids  are  always  in  motion,  /can  never 
come  into  the  same  position  in  relation  to  any  cos- 
moid  that  was  occupied  by  b.  Thus  a  and  /  come 
into  a  juxtaposition  that  is  mutually  different  from 
the  earlier  juxtaposition  of  a  and  b.  And  in  pro- 
ceeding farther  they  do  not,  as  we  have  said  for  con- 
venience of  language,  change  places;  having  met, 
they  pass  on,  taking  those  new  positions  which  alone 
were  made  possible  by  the  conditions  of  their  ad- 
jacency to  one  another  and  to  the  surrounding  cos- 
moids.    Similarly,  when  at  the  end  of  —  kinemas 

c  and  a  again  meet  they  do  not,  as  we  have  said, 
refuse  to  change  places,  but  pass  on  each  into  dif- 
ferent surroundings  from  any  that  could  ever  be 
experienced  by  another  cosmoid.  If  the  motive 
impulse  with  which  c  and  adjacent  cosmoids  were 
endowed  at  the  end  of  K  1  carried  them  forward  in 
lines  as  similarly  adjacent  as  possible,  each  of  them 

would  at  the  end  of  —  kinemas  have  swerved  from 

its  original  cosmic  line  —  times,  and  each  swerving 

of  each  cosmoid  would  have  been  different  from  each 
swerving  of  every  other  cosmoid.     Thus  c  would  in 

K  (—  +  1)  find  itself  in  the  midst  of  cosmoids  each 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         105 

of  which  occupied  a  position  as  different  from  its  posi- 
tion of  K  1  as  it  had  been  possible  to  realise  in  the 

course  of  —  kinemas,  and  to  no  one  of  which  could 

c  bear  the  same  relation  that  it  bore  to  any  of  the 

cosmoids  adjacent  to  it  in  K  1. 

It  is  clear  that  our  original  cosmic  line  was  merely 

a  fleeting  relation,  which  is  precisely  what  we  should 

have  expected  in  the  first  place.     If  cosmoids  might 

have  travelled  in  it  and  so  maintained  it,  it  could 

hardly  have  been  a  reality  in  a  universe  of  which 

the  sole  attribute  is  change.     The  cosmic  line  was 

composed  of  certain  cosmoids  which  we  represented 

by  the  letters  a,  b,  c,  etc.     But  if  the  motive  impulse 

of  K  1  was  such  as  to  produce  the  moves  represented 

in  Figures  2  and  3,  any  moves  that  followed  would 

be  as  simple  as  any  other  moves;   since  each  move 

of  each  cosmoid  must  realise  a  difference  from  its 

former  position  of   which  the  coefficient  would  be 

2  U 
the  -y-  new  relationships  constituting  its  position  at 

any  time.  And  in  the  case  of  any  cosmoid,  the  only 
thing  that  would  differentiate  any  two  of  its  moves 
would  be  their  relative  positions  in  time. 

It  seems  impossible  to  contemplate  in  thought 
any  universe,  one-dimensional  or  other,  of  which 
this,  or  an  equivalent,  statement  would  not  be  true. 
It  matters  not  if  we  choose  to  speak  of  progress  from 
the  more  simple  to  the  more  complex,  —  terms  which 


106         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

have  perhaps  no  ultimate  significance.  The  unique 
and  inevitable  conception  of  a  universe  that  is  to  be 
maintained  in  contemplation  is  the  conception  of  its 
identity  with  continuous  progress  into  the  different. 
It  is  likewise  inconceivable  that  any  progress  should 
fail  to  realise  a  difference  while  new  differences  re- 
mained to  be  realised.  Progress  may  realise  what 
we  call  a  similarity  or  repetition  only  at  that  point 
at  which  all  possible  differences  have  been  realised. 
If  progress  realised  a  similarity  before  that  point  was 
reached,  the  remaining  unrealised  differences  could 
not  be  apprehended  in  any  way.  For  a  universe 
that  is  not  infinite  cannot  have  two  separate  exist- 
ences, one  of  higher  value  than  the  other.  If 
progress,  after  realising  a  similarity,  proceeded  to 
realise  more  or  fewer  differences  than  had  before  been 
realised,  the  universe  must  be  infinite  and  incapable 
of  apprehension.  But  in  an  infinite  universe  differ- 
ences would  be  an  absurdity;  for  it  would  be  im- 
possible that  any  two  differences  should  have  an 
equal  or  an  unequal  value.  In  the  one-dimension 
universe  differences  must  not  be  an  absurdity  but 
the  only  reality ;  and  similarity  or  repetition  is  only 
a  manner  of  speaking  which  has  no  ultimate  descrip- 
tive value.  All  possible  differences  form  the  sum  of 
the  one-dimension  universe;  and  at  the  end  of  all 
possible  differences  it  is  not  similarities  or  repetitions 
that  are  then  realised,  since  two  differences  that 
are  in  reality  exactly  the  same  do  not  constitute  a 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         107 

similarity  or  a  repetition  or  a  subject  for  compari- 
son in  any  way. 

Thus  our  cosmoid  c  will  never  again  be  a  part  of 
its  original  cosmic  line  until  it  has  been  a  part  suc- 
cessively of  as  many  other  cosmic  lines  as  there  are 
units  of  time. 

Hence  it  is  clear  that  our  cosmoids  are  themselves 
fleeting  relations,  like  the  cosmic  lines.  They  are 
real  solely  in  virtue  of  their  change  of  position.  Any 
move  made  by  c  is  into  a  position  different  in  every 
respect  from  its  former  position.  This  is  to  say, 
the  total  reality  of  c  has  fled  and  an  entirely  new 
reality  has  appeared.  And  not  until  as  many  new 
realities  have  appeared  as  may  follow  one  upon 
another,  beginning  with  c,  will  the  original  c  be 
realised. 

It  matters  not,  then,  whether  we  regard  the  cosmon 
as  motion  or  as  a  substance,  since  the  two  are  neces- 
sarily identical.  But,  for  the  convenience  of  lan- 
guage it  will  be  advisable  to  speak  of  the  cosmon  as 
of  a  substance  from  which  motion  is  inseparable, 
and  of  a  cosmoid  as  imperishable.  The  "substance" 
with  which  we  are  all  immediately  familiar  has  been 
alluded  to  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter.  Theo- 
retically it  is  of  no  importance  whether  we  conceive 
matter  as  a  substance  or  not ;  for  we  already  know 
that  matter  is  composed  of  units  —  whether  or  not 
these  be  its  ultimate  units  —  to  which  to  apply  most 
of  the  well-known  attributes  of  matter  would  be  a 


108         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF   CHANGE 

piece  of  irrelevance,  whilst  there  is  no  reason  to 
believe  any  of  the  remaining  attributes  of  matter  to 
be  in  any  degree  more  definitely  applicable.  In  other 
words,  it  is  virtually  a  practical  as  well  as  theoretical 
necessity  that  the  so-called  properties  or  attributes 
of  matter  compose  man's  as  yet  inexact  description 
of  matter ;  the  basis  of  his  description  being  appear- 
ances derived  from  unobserved  processes  that  do 
not  follow  material  laws.  But  in  speaking  of  matter 
we  find  that  language  and  most  of  our  habits  of 
thought  have  been  formed  in  accordance  with  the 
supposition  that  matter  is  composed  of  particles 
that  are  hard,  soft,  dense,  elastic,  heavy ;  so  that  the 
reduction  to  words  of  theoretical  considerations  of 
matter  is  generally  a  twofold  process:  a  compara- 
tively brief  statement  in  traditional  terms  fol- 
lowed by  the  elaborate  and  unconventional  phrases 
of  a  rigorous  correction. 

The  case  of  our  consideration  of  the  one-dimen- 
sion universe  will  be  found  similar.  To  describe 
in  familiar  terms  any  conceivable  happenings  in  a 
universe  in  which  at  any  moment  of  time  nothing 
was  to  be  found  which  had  been  there  at  the  pre- 
ceding moment,  would  be  difficult  and  wearisome, 
nay  impossible.  The  assumption  of  an  appreciable 
degree  of  permanence  in  things  is  a  necessary  con- 
dition of  actual  verbal  expression,  and  we  shall 
therefore  find  it  convenient  in  the  main  to  keep  to 
the  symbolical  treatment  of  the  cosmoids  with  which 


THE   FICTION   OF   A  UNIVERSE 


109 


we  began.  But  in  order  that  their  real1  nature  be 
not  obscured  by  the  factitious  attribute  with  which 
we  must  invest  them,  it  will  be  necessary  first  to 
establish  as  rigorously  as  possible  the  correspondence 
between  the  two  and  at  later  stages  of  our  inquiry 
to  recur  frequently  to  this  correspondence. 


The  real  cosmoid,  being 
the  least  possible  change  of 
position,  disappears  with  the 
kinema  and  is  replaced  by 
another  cosmoid  different 
from  the  old  in  respect  of 

the  -jr-  ajdacent  cosmoids. 

If  T  equal  the  number  of 
kinemas  in  all  time,  each 
cosmoid  is  realised  but  once 
in  the  space  of  T  kinemas. 

The  real  cosmoid  and 
its  successors  stray  farther 
from  the  original  cosmic 
line  of  K  1  with  each  suc- 
cessive kinema,  and  the 
farther  they  have  strayed 
from  it,  the  nearer  have 
they  approached  to  its  real- 
isation which  takes  place 
once  in  T  kinemas. 


The  apparent  cosmoid, 
being  the  smallest  portion 
of  an  imperishable  sub- 
stance, persists  as  such 
through  all  time;  but  in 
no  two  of  the  T  successive 
kinemas  is  it  found  occupy- 
ing  the  same  position    rel- 

2  U 
atively  to    any  of   the  -yr- 


D 


adjacent  cosmoids. 


The  apparent  cosmoid 
keeps  to  any  cosmic  line  in 
which  it  has  been  travelling 
as  long  as  it  may,  —  by 
virtue  of  its  tendency  to  get 
as  far  away  as  possible  from 
a  recently  used  cosmoid 
which  contains  a  menace 
to  its  existence.  After  K  1 
every   cosmoid   keeps   to   a 

kinemas, 

when    it    encounters    a  fa- 


cosmic  line  for  — 


it 

^'Real"  is  obviously  a  convenient  word  to  use;    see  last 
paragraph  of  this  chapter. 


110 


THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 


The  total  difference  be- 
tween two  series  of  T  real 
cosmoids  each  —  as  of  the 
series  beginning  respec- 
tively with  c  and  a,  Figure 
2  —  may  be  represented  by 

the  quantity  Ti-j-  J,    since 

the  original  differences  be- 
tween c  and  a  were  as  many 
as  the  number  of  relations 
borne  by  either  to  its  ad- 
jacent cosmoids  taken  as 
many  times  as  there  were 
relations  existing  between 
the  other  and  its  adjacent 
cosmoids.  For  example, 
the  relation  of  c  to  e  was 
different  from  each  of  a's 
relationships  to  its  adjacent 


miliar  cosmoid,  and  both  are 
in  consequence  diverted  into 
new  cosmic  lines.  At  a 
later  stage  of  the  cosmic 
life,  when  long  persistence  in 
cosmic  lines  becomes  more 
difficult  and  in  consequence 
less  frequent,  an  apparent 
cosmoid  may  nevertheless,  if 
favoured  by  chance  or  by 
a  suitable  organisation  of 
the    cosmon, 


a 


cosmic 


persist    in 
line  for  —    kinemas 
or  an  even  longer  period. 

An  apparent  cosmoid  is 
more  unfriendly  to  an  ap- 
parent cosmoid  more  re- 
cently used  than  to  one  less 
recently  used,  for  it  has 
learned  from  experience  that 
if  it  changes  places  with  the 
former,  it  is  more  likely 
to  find  itself  in  uncongenial 
company.  For  the  pur- 
poses of  the  present  enquiry 
we  need  not  attempt  to  give 
any  provisional  symbolical 
values  to  the  degrees  of 
friendliness  or  unfriendliness 
existing  between  cosmoids 
that  meet  under  various 
circumstances.  We  have 
not  assumed  that  the  appar- 
ent cosmoid  c  had  had  any 


THE  FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         111 


cosmoids;  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  each  of  the 
other  relationships  that 
went  to  make  up  c's  reality 
in  the  universe.  Now,  the 
contemporaneous  successors 
of  c  and  a  will,  in  the  course 
of  T  kinemas,  become  ad- 
jacent to  one  another  a 
certain  number  of  times,  — 
probably  many  more  than 
U2  times,  —  and  on  any 
occasion  of  their  adjacency 
the  two  series  will  have 
before  them  a  total  differ- 
"2  U\* 


ence  of  T 


D 


For     K 1 


was  not  supposed  to  be  the 
beginning  of  the  universe, 
but  simply  a  convenient 
point  from  which  to  under- 
take a  consideration  of  it. 
And  supposing  two  succes- 
sors of  c  and  a  (as  c'  and  a') 
to  become  adjacent  in  a 
certain  kinema;  and  two 
other  successors  (as  c"  and 
a")  to  become  adjacent  x 
kinemas  later;  the  differ- 
ence between  the  series 
c'  —  c':  and  the  series  a'  —  a" 

(2  u\* 

will  be  x  (  -rr- ) ;  and  the  dif- 


.  D 

f  erence  between  the  series,  c" 
—  &  and  the  series  a"  —  a' 

will  be  (T  —  x)(^f).    But  if 


experience  whatever  pre- 
viously to  K  1,  nor  that  it 
had  any  knowledge  of  the 
value  of  T.  And  there  is 
no  question  of  ascribing 
to  the  apparent  cosmoids 
any  property  further  than 
that  which  is  expressibly 
symbolical  of  actual  pro- 
cesses in  the  one-dimension 
universe;  to  wit,  an  ability 
to  profit  by  the  experience 
of  all  kinemas  since  K 1. 
The  apparent  cosmoid,  then, 
gets  as  far  away  as  possible 
from  the  cosmoid  with 
which  it  last  changed  places, 
—  i.e.  it  travels  in  a  cosmic 
line,  —  unless  another  men- 
ace appears  directly  in  its 
path;  in  which  case  it 
leaves  the  old  cosmic  line 
in  favour  of  the  best  alli- 
ance it  can  make  in  the  light 
of  its  experience  since  K  1. 
From  force  of  circumstances 
it  may  often  remain  adja- 
cent to  another  cosmoid 
for  a  certain  period;  but 
the  farther  this  period  is 
prolonged,  the  more  im- 
perative becomes  the  need 
of  separation. 


112        THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 


c"  and  a"  became  adja- 
cent 2  x  kinemas  later  than 
c'  and  a',  instead  of  only  x 
kinemas  later,  the  difference 
between  the  series  c"  —  c' 
and      the      series      a"  —  a' 

/2  T7\2 
wouldbe(77-2x)f-^-J.     It 

is  seen,  then,  that  the  differ- 
ence    subsequently     to    be 
realised    by    the    adjacent 
successors  of  any  originally 
adjacent    cosmoids,    before 
the  first  adjacency  is  again 
realised,  is    greater    if     the 
shortest     interval     between 
the  two  adjacencies  is  lesser, 
and    lesser    if    the    shortest 
interval   is   greater.     Hence 
contemporaneous        succes- 
sors of    two    cosmoids  may 
remain      adjacent     for      a 
certain  number  of  kinemas; 
but,  the  universe  not  being 
infinite,  they  could  not  re- 
main   indefinitely    adjacent 
unless    some     distant    cos- 
moids remained  fixed.     For 
sooner  or  later  this  persist- 
ent adjacency  would  mean 
that    other    cosmoids    must 
be  persistently  maintaining 
their     adjacency.       Event- 
ually all  pairs  of  cosmoids 
would  be  maintaining  their 
adjacency,   for  they  would 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         113 


not  be  admitted  to  the  novel 
differences  of  other  sur- 
roundings where  adjacen- 
cies were  being  persistently 
maintained.  That  all  pairs 
of  cosmoids  should  thus 
maintain  their  adjacencies 
without  coming  to  rest  is 
plainly  impossible.  Nor 
could  the  successors  of  two 
cosmoids  become  adjacent 
with  more  than  a  definite 
frequency.  Thus,  the  suc- 
cessors of  any  two  cosmoids 
whose  series  contain,  as 
do  the  series  of  all  pairs  of 
cosmoids,  a  definite  number 
of  mutual  adjacencies, 
would  tend  to  protracted 
separations  after  protracted 
associations,  and  vice  versa. 


Let  us  now  proceed  with  our  enquiry  into  the 
careers  conceivably  open  to  our  imperishable  ap- 
parent cosmoids,  bearing  always  in  mind  their 
symbolical  character,  and  pausing  from  time  to  time 
to  examine  the  correspondence  between  them  and 
their  prototypes.  At  the  time  when  we  were  forced 
to  investigate  their  title  to  the  beginnings  of  this 
symbolic  existence,  we  left  them  embarked  on  their 
several  voyages  through  regions  as  yet  comparatively 
free  from  danger.  Free  rovers  we  called  them,  since 
in  no  situation  could  we  say  exactly  what  they  would 


114         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

do,  whilst  in  some  situations  we  might  not  even  be 
able  to  say  what  they  would  not  do.     Ignorant  as 

they  are  of  the  value  either  of  T  or  of  -==,  they  have 

as  their  sole  equipment  for  life  an  ability  to  profit 
by  their  immediate  experience  of  every  kinema  since 
K 1.  Their  prototypes,  the  persistent  series  of  real 
cosmoids,  may  be,  and  doubtless  are,  much  better 
equipped;  so  well,  in  fact,  as  to  eliminate  all  pos- 
sibility of  error.  But  we  may  find  it  of  advantage 
to  inquire  if  the  apparent  cosmoids  are  likely  to 
justify  their  claim  to  a  symbolic  existence  for  all 
time.  If  they  may  not  possibly  justify  this  claim 
for  the  T  kinemas  of  which  they  know  nothing,  they 
have  no  symbolic  value  in  the  one-dimension  uni- 
verse in  which  change  must  be  realised  in  all  possible 
degrees.     Since  we   are   ourselves   ignorant   of  the 

value  either  of  T  or  of  jz,  it  will  of  course  be  im- 
possible to  trace  their  careers  even  in  a  general  way 
beyond  a  portion,  unknown  in  extent,  of  those  T 
kinemas  that  go  to  make  up  all  time.  But  the  re- 
sults of  any  enquiry  that  should  show  these  meagrely 
equipped  cosmoids  able  to  overcome  the  enormous 
difficulties  they  must  early  encounter  and  so  to  con- 
tinue to  exist  for  any  considerable  period  must  pos- 
sess some  interest,  since  they  could  only  be  reached 
through  the  discovery  that  a  menace  to  the  cos- 
moids' existence  brought  with  it  a  measure  of  relief; 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         115 

or,  in  other  words,  that  the  essential  property  of 
the  cosmoids  was,  at  least  to  some  extent,  a  vital 
principle. 

Our  cosmoid  c  was    at    the  end  of  —    kinemas 

debarred,  for  the  moment,  from  further  progress  in 

its  original  cosmic  line.     At  the  end  of  at  most  — 

more  kinemas,  it  will  be  diverted  from  its  new  cosmic 
line.  With  growing  experience  it  will  come  to  be 
only  by  a  rare  chance,  if  at  all,  that  c  may  proceed 

for  as  many  as  —  kinemas  in  any  cosmic  line :    its 

simple  course  will  be  interrupted  with  ever  greater 
frequency.  Each  succeeding  kinema  subtracts  one 
from  the  number  of  admissible  or  new  arrangements 

2  U 

of  ry-  cosmoids  around    c;    and    it   may  subtract 

many  more  than  one  from  the  number  of  admissible 
or  new  arrangements  that  are  to  all  appearances 
available  within  the  time  in  which  the  demand  for 
them  shall  become  imperative.  It  might  be  ex- 
pected that,  long  before  all  possible  arrangements 
had  been  exhausted,  c  or  any  other  cosmoid  should 
suddenly  find  itself  in  a  critical  situation;  i.e.  sur- 
rounded by  a  choice  of  arrangements  all  of  which 
had  been  used,  whilst  the  many  admissible  arrange- 
ments were  inaccessible.  It  is  to  be  remembered 
that  we  have  not  assumed  the  cosmoids  to  be 
endowed  with  any  gift  of  foresight  such  as  would 


116         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

enable  them  to  regulate  the  cosmic  traffic  and  so  to 
avert  a  fatal  block.     It  is  not  supposed  that  any 

2  U 
cosmoid  should  ever  look  beyond  the  -=-  adjacent 

cosmoids  of  which  alone  and  of  whose  relative 
positions  it  may  apprehend  the  various  degrees  of 
strangeness  or  familiarity.  It  might,  then,  seem 
highly  probable  that  the  ability  of  the  cosmoids  to 
profit  by  their  experience  since  K 1  would  soon  prove 
quite  inadequate  to  prevent  the  development, 
somewhere  in  the  universe,  of  a  block  such  as  would 
finally  demonstrate  the  futility  of  our  initial  assump- 
tion. 

But  the  earliest  and  perhaps  by  no  means  urgent 
menaces  of  such  a  dead-lock  must  inevitably  give 
rise  to  a  certain  group  of  changes,  which  would  be 
realised  a  vast  number  of  times  in  all  parts  of  the 
cosmon,  often  simultaneously,  and  under  the  most 
various  circumstances.  Indeed  the  one-dimension 
universe  must  have  been  comparatively  young  when, 

2  U 
for  the  first  time,  all  the  -=r  cosmoids  adjacent  to 

any  cosmoid,  as  c,  found  that  amongst  the  great 
variety  of  changes  open  to  them,  none  of  which 
contained  a  warning  of  proximate  embarrassment, 
the  obvious  changes  lay  nevertheless  amongst  them- 
selves or  with  c  (Fig.  6).  With  the  growing  require- 
ment of  more  frequent  deviation  from  cosmic  lines, 
such  groups  of  changes,  or  centre-changes,  as  we  may 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         117 

call  them,  would  be  realised  in  greater  numbers,  at 

shorter   intervals,    more   often   simultaneously.     It 

seems    clear,    indeed,    that   the  ,       * 

centre-change  is  the  destiny  of 

all  cosmoids.      Though  it  may    (i;  «  c         d 

be  an  incomplete  definition  of 

g  h 

the  ultimate  destiny  of  all  cos-  a 

moids,     it    is    clearly    a    stage 

through     which     all     cosmoids 

must   sooner   or   later   pass,   if 

they  are  to  persist  to  the  end  j> 

of  time.      But  if  all  cosmoids,  « 

before  exhausting  the  possibili- 

.  (2)  i  a  h 

ties  of  free-roving,  should  at  any 
time  find  themselves  participat-  b  d 

ing    simultaneously    in    centre-  9 

changes  and  with  no  prospect  Eig.  6 

of  escape  from  these  centre-changes,  they  could  have 
no  correspondence  with  anything  that  is  real  in  the 
universe.  And  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  this  crisis 
would  eventually  arise  unless  the  centre-change  itself 
should  contain  possibilities  of  an  influence  upon  the 
cosmon  such  as  would  prevent  the  too  frequent  and 
too  numerous  formation  of  its  kind  and  at  the  same 
time  regularise  the  process  of  free-roving  sufficiently 
to  admit  of  the  exploitation  of  its  total  resources. 
We  must,  then,  enquire  if  the  nature  of  the  centre- 
change  is  such  as  to  make  it  probable  that  its  in- 
creasingly frequent  formation  would  have  this  result. 


118         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

That,  early  in  the  cosmic  life  when  needs  are  not 
pressing,  a  centre-change  should  long  be  maintained 
by  the  same  cosmoids,  is  of  course  extremely  unlikely ; 
and  in  those  kinemas  in  which  it  was  so  maintained  it 
would  clearly  have  no  direct  effect  upon  the  free- 
roving  cosmoids  nor  upon  other  centre-changes. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  centre-change  that  was 
realised  in  one  kinema  and  dissipated  in  the  next 
without  being  replaced  by  another  centre-change 
would  be  equally  barren  of  systematic  consequences ; 
it  would  be  nothing  more  than  an  incident  of  the 
process  of  free-roving. 

It  is,  then,  readily  to  be  seen  that  the  centre- 
change  most  likely  to  have  a  considerable  effect 
upon  the  cosmon  would  be  one  that  was  maintained 
for  a  considerable  period,  being  renewed  on  each  oc- 
casion by  a  different  set  of  cosmoids. 

The  following  questions  at  once  arise.  Could  a 
centre-change  be  so  maintained?  If  so,  upon  what 
conditions,  and  would  these  conditions  probably  be 
present  in  the  cosmon  ?  What,  finally,  would  be  the 
effect  upon  the  cosmon  of  a  centre-change  so  main- 
tained ? 

We  may  consider  these  questions  in  the  order 
named;  but  it  will  first  be  necessary  to  gain  some 
idea  of  the  relations  borne  to  the  surrounding  cosmon 

2  U 
by  a  group  of  -=r-  cosmoids,  all  of  which  are  adjacent 

to  the  same  cosmoid. 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE 


119 


2  U 
At  (1)  in  Figure  6  —  in  which  the  -=-  cosmoids 

adjacent  to  c  are  represented  by  a,  f,  d,  etc.  —  it 
will  be  seen  that  the  cosmic  lines  ca  and  cf,  if  pro- 
longed throughout  the  cosmon,  will  always  remain 
adjacent ;  otherwise  there  must  be  a  cosmoid  between 
a  and/  to  form  part  of  a  cosmic  line  with  c  and  some 
third  cosmoid  lying  between  the  prolonged  lines  ca 
and  cf,  —  which  is  inadmissible  according  to  our 
initial  assumption.  This  means  that  the  number  of 
surrounding  cosmoids  adjacent  to  a,  f  d,  etc.,  is 

a" 


e"        e'        e 


9 


9' 


r 


a' 


a 


b 
b' 


f" 


r 


f 


d         d'       d' 


2  U 


Fig.  7 


These  are  represented  in  Figure  7  by  the  cos- 
moids ar,  /',  d',  etc. ;  and  the  second  outlying  set  of 

2  U 

-jr-  cosmoids,  by  a",  /",  d",  etc. 


120         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

Let  us  try  to  discover  how  many  cosmic  lines  or 
portions  of  cosmic  diameters  are  represented  in 
Figure  7. 

From  our  earlier  considerations  we  know  that  a 
cosmic  diameter  must  be  that  portion  of  the  cosmon 

in  which  neither  more  nor  less  than  —  consecutive 

changes  of  position  of  its  D  component  cosmoids 
would  bring  each  cosmoid  face  to  face  with  its  original 
neighbour.  Each  of  the  cosmoids  would  then  have 
met  one-half  of  the  cosmoids  of  the  line,  and  would 
not  have  met  any  of  those  cosmoids  which  are  sepa- 
rated from  it  by  distances  of  two,  four,  six  etc.,  cos- 
moids. 

In  Figure  7  a  is  separated  from  b  by  c,  these  three 
cosmoids  being  in  the  same  cosmic  line. 

The  question  then  arises,  From  how  many  more 
cosmoids,  if  from  any,  of  the  set  afd  is  a  separated  ? 

Let  us  suppose /to  be  adjacent  to  both  a  and  d;  d 
to  h;  h  to  b;  but  a  to  be  not  adjacent  to  d  nor  h; 
nor  b  to  d  nor/;  nor  h  to/. 

But  a  must  be  in  a  cosmic  line  with  d  and  with  h, 
because  every  cosmoid  is  in  a  cosmic  line  with  every 
other  cosmoid ;  and  /  must  likewise  be  in  a  cosmic 
line  with  h  and  with  b. 

The  cosmic  line  which  contains  both  a  and  d  must 
obviously  (upon  our  supposition)  contain  either  c  or 
/or/',  —  i.e.  if/'  is  indeed  adjacent  to  both  a  and  d. 

The  line  acdd'  ...  e'  would  contain  D  cosmoids; 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         121 

but  e,'  could  not,  upon  our  supposition,  be  adjacent 
to  a.  Therefore  this  is  not  a  cosmic  diameter. 
The  line  acdhh'  ...  i'  would  contain  D  +  1  cosmoids; 
and  acdhf  ...  %'  could  not  be  a  cosmic  diameter  unless 

2  U 

-jr-  equalled  eight ;  which,  as  we  shall  later  see,  is 

virtually  impossible. 

If  afd  is  a  cosmic  line,  fdh  and  dhb  would  also  be 
cosmic  lines;  and  afdhbgei  would  be  a  cosmic 
diameter.  But  in  the  line  afdhbgei  such  motions  as 
are  peculiar  to  the  cosmic  diameter  could  not  take 
place  unless  c  should  remain  fixed. 

For  reasons  similar  to  the  above,  any  conceivable 
prolongation  of  the  line  afd  would  fail  to  satisfy 
the  requirements  of  a  cosmic  diameter. 

It  is,  then,  clear  that  a  must  be  adjacent  to  d  and 
that,  for  similar  reasons,  each  of  the  cosmoids  afd, 
etc.,  must  be  adjacent  to  all  the  others  except  that 
one  from  which  it  is  separated  by  c. 

Thus,  a  and  d  are  common  to  the  two  cosmic 
diameters  adbb'  ...  a'smddaee'  ...  d' ';  and  they  alone 
are  common  to  these  diameters. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  and  b  must  be  common  to  no 

less  than  -=-  cosmic  diameters,  acb,  afb,    adb,   etc., 

all  of  which  are  identical  in  all  but  one  cosmoid 
(c, /,  d,  etc.).     Furthermore  a,  as  we  have  seen,  is  a 

part  of  no  less  than  yr  —  1  other  cosmic  diameters, 
fag,  dae,  etc. ;    and  the  same  is  true  of  /,  b,  etc. 


122         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

Each  cosmoid  of  the  first  outlying  set  is,  then,  a  part 

3  U 

of  no  less  than  -=r —  1  lines  that  are  unquestionably 

cosmic  diameters ;  and  unless  this  were  true,  it  would 
be  impossible  that  each  of  these  cosmoids  should  be  in 
a  cosmic  line  with  every  other  cosmoid  in  the  universe. 
That  earlier  statement  which  we  believed  to  be 
inevitably  true  —  that  any  cosmoid  may  form  a 

part  of  neither  more  nor  less  than  —  cosmic  lines  — 

seems  now  to  be  contradicted. 

Let  us  make  a  further  examination  of  the  diagram. 
If,  as  we  have  said,  each  of  the  cosmoids  afd,  etc.,  is 
adjacent  to  all  the  others  except  that  one  from  which 
it  is  separated  by  c,  it  may  be  adjacent,  according  to 
our  earliest  assumption,  to  but  one  other  cosmoid,  — 
i.e.  a  would  be  adjacent  to  a',  f  to  /',  etc.;  but  a 
would  not  be  adjacent  to/'.  And  a',  which  must  be 
adjacent  to  /'  and  to  all  other  cosmoids  of  the  set 
a'f'd'  except  b' ',  would  in  addition  be  adjacent  to  one 
cosmoid  (a")  of  the  set  a"f"d". 

Figure  8  represents  the  same  kinema  as  Figure  7, 
but  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  relationships  of 
the  cosmoid  a ;  Figure  9,  from  the  point  of  view  of  a' '. 

In  Figure  8  it  appears  that  a',  which  we  thought  to 
have  proved  adjacent  only  to  a,  a",  and  all  members 
of  the  a'f'd'  set  except  b'  is  in  addition  adjacent  to 
all  members  of  the  afd  set  except  b.     Similarly,  b 

2  U 
turns  out  to  be  adjacent  to  -=r 1  members  of  the 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE 


123 


a'f'd'  set  instead  of  to  only  one  member  of  that  set, 

as  we  thought  to  have  proved ;  and  a"  is  contradic- 

2  U 
torily  adjacent  to  — ~ —  1  members  of  the  aff'd'  set 


a' 


a' 


i'                 f 

i 

f 

/ 

i  d 

\ 

h 

/ 

9 

9' 


ti 


r 


Fig.  8 

In  Figure  9  it  is  seen  that  both  a"  and  b  have  a  still 

more  extensive  acquaintance  than  was  indicated  in 

2  U 
Figure  8;  for  a"  is  now  adjacent  to  -=r 1  members 

2  U 

of  the  afd  set,  whilst  b  is  adjacent  to  -=r —  1  mem- 
bers of  the  a"f"d"  set. 

In  such  wise  may  it  be  shown  that  every  cosmoid 
but  one  in  the  universe  is  at  any  time  adjacent  to 
every  other  cosmoid  save,  in  any  instance,!)— 2  of  the 
cosmoids  of  that  single  cosmic  diameter  to  which  it 
is  common  together  with  that  cosmoid  which  has 


124         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

2  U 
obviously  but  -yr-  adjacent  cosmoids.     In  Figure  7, 

for  example,  a'  may  be  regarded  as  adjacent  to  every 
cosmoid  in  the  universe  save  D—2.  It  may  not  be 
regarded  as  adjacent  to  itself,  nor  to  c,  b,  V,  ...  a 


ttt . 


>i" 


€' 


9 


ff' 


a' 


a' 


f 


r 


d         d'        d'4 


g  "  h 

a 


b 
Fig.  9 


2U 


c  being  obviously  adjacent  to  but  -y-  cosmoids. 

2  U 
Again,  if  /"  be  represented  with  its  — ^-    adjacent 

cosmoids,  c  may  be  regarded  as  adjacent  to  a  and  to 
every  other  cosmoid  in  the  universe  except  /',  /",  /'", 

...  g'. 

These  results  may  suggest  the  following  reflections. 

We  have  no  knowledge  of  anything  comparable  to 
these  apparent  cosmoids,  which  have  indeed  proved 
contradictory  of  what  has  often  been  declared  to  be  a 


THE  FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         125 

truth  of  the  highest  certainty.  That  a  geometrical 
point  or  sphere,  or  an  atom  of  matter,  should  of 
necessity  be  adjacent  to  no  more  than  a  certain 
number  of  other  things  and  should,  at  the  same 
time  and  of  equal  necessity,  be  adjacent  to  vastly 
more  than  this  number  of  other  things,  is  manifestly 
out  of  the  question.  No  further  progress  in  our  con- 
sideration of  the  apparent  cosmoids  seems  possible ; 
not  because  we  have  led  them  into  an  absurdity,  but 
because  they  seem  incapable  of  further  treatment 
with  the  means  at  our  command.  That  they  are  by 
no  means  necessarily  lodged  in  absurdity  is  suffi- 
ciently clear;  since  our  recent  considerations  have 
but  served  to  bring  out  the  self-assertiveness  of  that 
uncomprehended  reality  which  lies  beneath  our 
symbols.  A  real  cosmoid,  be  it  remembered,  is  a 
change  of  position  inseparable  from  a  kinema.  The 
cosmoid-position  at  any  time  with  reference  to 
surrounding  cosmoid-positions  is  not  to  be  deter- 
mined with  reference  rather  to  the  end  of  the  kinema 
than  to  its  beginning,  nor  vice  versa.  Yet  the 
kinema  implies  a  difference  in  it.  And  kinemas  are 
not  only  not  divisible  into  parts,  but  are  not  separable 
one  from  another  any  more  than  cosmoids  are  so 
separable.  Thus  we  are  confronted  with  the  con- 
clusion that  we  must  have  expected  to  reach  in  our 
consideration  of  the  one-dimension  universe:  that 
our  unit  of  time  is  not  expressible  in  terms  of  seconds, 
nor  our  unit  of  space  in  terms  of  inches  or  of  cubic 


126        THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

inches ;  that  when  we  speak  of  two  kinemas  or  of  five 
cosmoids,  we  do  so  purely  in  deference  to  our  neces- 
sarily geometrical  point  of  view ;  the  real  cosmoid 
having  an  existence  inseparable  from  the  whole  cos- 
mon,  the  real  kinema,  an  existence  inseparable  from 
all  time.  A  single  real  cosmoid  or  change,  if  com- 
pletely understood,  would  inevitably  reveal  the  nature 
of  every  other  cosmoid,  for  its  existence  is  deter- 
mined by  that  of  all  other  cosmoids.  And,  similarly,  a 
single  kinema,  if  completely  understood,  must  reveal 
the  nature  of  all  other  kinemas.  Since,  moreover, 
the  cosmoids  are  inseparable  from  the  kinemas,  each 
single  cosmoid  implies  the  total  possibilities  of  the 
universe ;  kinemas  thus  become  equivalent  to  cos- 
moids. It  follows  that,  though  our  single  apparent 
cosmoid  requires  the  quasi-geometrical  adjacency  of 

2  U 

not  more  than  —=r-  other  cosmoids,  the  ungeometri- 

cal  nature  of  the  real  cosmoid  requires  the  "adja- 
cency" of  all  other  cosmoids.  We  may,  then,  have  an 
undiminished  faith  in  our  one-dimension  universe. 
That  no  other  universe  seems  capable  of  being  main- 
tained in  thought;  that  many  implications  of 
matter  and  of  mind  point  significantly  to  this  one- 
dimension  universe :  the  force  of  these  considera- 
tions is  strengthened,  not  weakened,  by  the  discovery 
that  the  reality  behind  our  symbolical  cosmoids  is 
ever  ready  to  thwart  our  attempts  to  represent  them 
geometrically. 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         127 

The  real  difficulty  that  has  arisen  is  one  of  treat- 
ment. If  no  correspondence  is  apparent  between 
geometrical  concepts  and  the  ever  menaced  symbols 
of  real  cosmic  processes,  of  what  use  has  been  this 
detailed  consideration  of  the  cosmoids  ?  Geometrical 
concepts,  whether  fundamental  or  not,  exist  in  the 
universe  in  which  we  live,  and  they  influence  all 
our  considerations  even  of  ungeometrical  processes. 
If  we  cannot  discover  how  they  are  derived  from  the 
processes  of  the  one-dimension  universe,  of  what  use 
is  it  to  know  if  the  apparent  cosmoids  may  continue 
to  exist  for  a  considerable  period?  How,  indeed, 
could  this  be  known?  What  can  be  the  possible 
significance  of  a  centre-change? 

But  if  we  again  consult  these  diagrams  which  have 
exhibited  the  geometrical  contradiction  of  the  ad- 
jacency of  cosmoids,  we  shall  find  that  they  do  at 
the  same  time  exhibit  a  striking  correspondence 
between  a  certain  feature  of  the  one-dimension  uni- 
verse and  a  familiar  geometrical  concept. 

In  Figure  7,  c  is  a  cosmoid  which  separates  a  from  b 
and  prevents  the  adjacency  of  a'  to  bf,  of  a"  to  b",  etc. 
It  exercises  this  power  solely  by  virtue  of  its  being 

2  U 
adjacent  to  but  —=r-  other  cosmoids. 

In  Figure  9,  a'  alone,  of  all  the  cosmoids  repre- 

2  U 
sented,  is  adjacent  to  no  more  than  -=r-  cosmoids. 

Our    earliest    conception    of    the    real    cosmoids 


128         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

(page  98  et  seq.)  has  been  modified  so  that,  with 

reference  to  the  whole  cosmon  in  all  time,  we  regard 

both  c,  in  Figure  7,  and  a' ,  in  Figure  9,  as  adj  acent  to  all 

other  cosmoids.     But  all  time  and  all  cosmon  have 

definite  values  by  virtue  of  the  differences  existing 

within  them,  even  though  these  differences  be  not 

finally  measurable  by  the  numbers  which  we  use  in 

describing  the  enduring  appearances  of  actual  life. 

And,  though  the  divisibility  of  time  into  T  kinemas, 

and  of  the  cosmon  into  U  cosmoids,  be,  as  we  have 

seen,  but  an  illusory  though  practically  necessary 

verbal  image,  it  is  impossible  either  in  diagram  or  in 

thought  to  represent  the  cosmon  as  devoid  of  such 

2  U 
restrictive  relations  as  that  of  c  (Fig.  7)  to  its  -=r- 

adj acent  cosmoids.  Such  relations,  indeed,  are 
ubiquitous  and  belong  to  all  our  diagrammatic 
cosmoids.  Regarded  geometrically,  they  are  fixed 
for  all  time,  bearing  certain  relations  to  one  another 
which  never  vary.  The  cosmoid  c  and  its  successors 
do  not  remain  in  the  positions  represented  in  Figure 

2  U 

7,  but  the  relation  of  one  cosmoid  to  -jr  adjacent 

cosmoids  remains.  There  are  always  as  many  such 
relations  as  there  are  cosmoids  in  the  universe. 
These  fixed  relations  are,  as  we  know,  purely  imagi- 
nary;  they  form  the  limitation  of  the  real ;  or  again,  as 
represented  in  thought,  they  are  those  unreal  rela- 
tions with  reference  to  which  alone  real  relations 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         129 

may  be  comprehended.  So  far  as  we  have  consid- 
ered them,  they  seem,  then,  precisely  equivalent  to 
geometrical  points. 

That  they  could  never  be  apprehended  in  thought 
or  otherwise  unless  the  real  should  persist  through 
time,  is  obvious.  But  if,  upon  this  field  of  U  un- 
real relations,  things  may  move  and  bear  varying, 
not  fixed,  relations  to  one  another,  the  unreal  re- 
lations may  be  of  value  as  a  measure  of  these  real 
motions  or  relations.  The  question  arises,  What 
motion,  if  any,  may  take  place  upon  this  field  of 
unreal  relations? 

Our  free-roving,  apparent  cosmoids  may  never 
move  save  to  form  a  part  of  these  unreal  relations 
which  bear  fixed  relations  to  one  another. 

But  an  unreal  relation  may  itself  be  conceived 
as  moving  from  one  position  to  another;  it  would 
then  be  the  unreal  thing  necessarily  postulated  when 
real  motion  is  to  be  apprehended  in  any  way.  In 
such  motion  the  assumed  c  and  its  adjacent  afd, 
etc.  (Fig.  7),  would  sooner  or  later  disappear  from 
the  relation,  being  replaced  by  other  cosmoids; 
but  the  relation  that  existed  between  c  and  afd 
would  be  preserved  instead  of  becoming  identified 
with  another  relation  such  as  that  of  a  to  afd 
(Fig.  8). 

If  the  relation  between  c  and  afd  is  to  be  pre- 
served, each  successive  set  of  cosmoids  that  form 
this  relation  must  be  supposed  to  remain  in  the 


130         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

relation  during  at  least  one  of  the  units  of  time. 
For  if  afd  should  no  sooner  become  adjacent  to  c 
and  to  one  another  than  some  of  them  withdrew, 
the  relation  would  have  been  in  no  way  different 
from  those  other  U—  1  relations  that  bear  immutable 
relations  to  one  another.  It  would  therefore  be 
incapable  of  motion.  It  would  be  simply  an  in- 
cident of  the  process  of  free-roving  which  invariably 
leads  cosmoids  into  fixed  relations.  To  establish 
a  relation  that  is  not  incapable  of  motion,  the  process 
of  free-roving  must,  then,  be  modified.  And  the 
only  obvious  possibility  of  a  modification  of  free- 
roving  lies  in  the  formation  of  the  centre-change,  — 
a  change  which  has  been  seen  to  be  inevitable.  The 
cosmoids  a,  f,  d,  and  c,  on  becoming  adjacent,  move 
in  some  such  way  as  indicated  in  Figure  6,  and  their 
successors  in  the  relation  do  likewise.  It  is  clear 
that,  if  the  relation  is  to  be  maintained  for  a 
period  of  time  sufficient  to  give  any  significance  to 
its  formation,  it  must  exercise  some  organising  in- 
fluence upon  the  cosmon  adequate  to  the  require- 
ment that  at  regular  intervals  a  definite  amount  of 
such  cosmoids  be  brought  to  its  borders  as  are  capable 
of  the  mutual  interchanges  indicated  in  Figure  6. 
In  other  words,  while  the  unreal  relations  of  free- 
roving  cosmoids  remain  fixed  in  their  positions, 
and  while  even  a,  /,  d,  and  their  successors  in  the 
mobile  relation  are  themselves  participating  in 
unreal  relations,  our  initially  mobile  relation  must 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE  131 

be  using  all  cosmoids  within  reach  of  its  influence 
to  preserve  its  mobility. 

It  is  seen,  then,  that  if  the  value  of  the  geo- 
metrical point  as  a  conception  precedent  to  the 
comprehension  of  any  motion  in  the  one-dimension 
universe  is  to  be  demonstrated,  it  must  probably  be 
through  that  same  formation  and  process  through 
which  alone  the  symbolic  existence  of  the  apparent 
cosmoids  may  be  prolonged  for  a  greater  period 
than  would  be  possible  under  the  conditions  of  free- 
roving  alone:  the  formation,  to  wit,  of  the  centre- 
change,  and  the  process  by  which  it  may  be  sys- 
tematically maintained. 

In  the  course  of  our  further  enquiry  it  will  appear 
that,  if  there  is  indeed  any  cosmical  process  adequate 
to  the  prolonged  maintenance  of  a  centre-change, 
such  a  process  would  maintain  the  centre-change 
equally  well  in  a  state  of  real  motion  and  in  a  state 
of  imaginary  rest.  Which  is  only  a  manner  of  saying 
that  the  centre-change  might  have  different  rates 
of  motion  in  time:  that  it  would  not  necessarily 
move  in  a  cosmic  line  at  the  rate  of  one  cosmoid 
per  kinema,  but  might  equally  well  move  at  the 
rate  of  one  cosmoid  per  three  or  five  or  any  number 
of  kinemas.  But,  since  the  cosmoid  is  the  assumptive 
spatial  unit  of  the  one-dimension  universe,  it  follows 
that  the  centre-change,  during  any  kinema  in  which 
it  is  not  moving  a  distance  of  one  cosmoid,  is  in  a 
state  of  assumptive  rest.     In  examining  any  sys- 


132        THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

terns  of  supply  adequate  or  inadequate  for  the 
maintenance  of  a  centre-change  it  will,  then,  be 
convenient  first  to  regard  the  centre-change  as 
in  a  state  of  rest,  and  reserve  for  a  later  considera- 
tion the  implications  of  its  motion. 

It  will  further  appear,  in  the  course  of  our  enquiry, 
that  only  those  centre-changes  could  survive  for 
a  considerable  period  which  were  supplied  under 
a  system  having  the  highest  possible  efficiency; 
that  any  centre-change  supplied  under  a  system 
having  a  lower  degree  of  efficiency  would  labour 
under  disadvantages  so  great  that  it  would  in  a 
comparatively  short  time  give  way  to  other  centre- 
changes  supplied  under  the  most  efficient  system. 

It  being  obvious,  as  we  have  already  observed, 
that  the  centre-change  possessed  of  the  highest 
organising  power  over  the  cosmon  would  be  one 
from  which  as  many  as  possible  of  the  participating 
cosmoids  depart  in  each  second  kinema,  to  be  re- 
placed by  other  cosmoids,  it  is  to  this  kind  of  centre- 
change  that  we  may  with  a  saving  of  time  confine 
our  attention. 

The  number  of  cosmoids  that  may  depart  from 

a  centre-change  in  each  second  kinema  is  approxi- 

2  U  2U 

mately  -=r-.    The  symbolical   quantity  -jr-,  if   it 

were  exactly  expressible  in  numbers,  would  doubt- 
less be  so  great  that  we  should  not  need  to  concern 
ourselves  with  the  questions,  whether  it  were  ex- 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         133 

pressible  by  an  even  or  by  an  odd  number;  nor 
whether  such  a  mutual  interchange  as  that  of  c,  a, 
and  /,  in  Figure  6,  were  symbolically  a  suitable  rep- 
resentation of  a  real  occurrence  in  the  one-dimen- 
sion universe.    Whether  the  output  of  the  centre- 

2  U 
change  per  two  kinemas  would  be  -j-  cosmoids,  or 

— 1,  or  -jr 2,  is  therefore  a  question  possess- 
ing no  great  significance  in  the  present  enquiry. 
What  we  wish  to  ascertain  is,  what  possible  influence 
upon  the  cosmon,  and  secondarily  upon  the  centre- 
change  itself,  would  be  exerted  by  the  departure  from 
a  centre-change  of  the  maximum  amount  of  cosmoids 
per  two  kinemas,  and  by  any  conceivable  subse- 
quent dispositions  of  these  cosmoids.  And  for  con- 
venience we  may  suppose  this  maximum  output  per 

two  kinemas  to  be  -jr-  cosmoids. 

2  U 
Now,  it  is  obvious  that  these  -jr-  cosmoids,  after 

executing  a  centre-change,  must,  if  they  then  depart 
from  the  centre-change,  depart  from  it  in  cosmic 
lines,  leading  to  the  centre-change.  For  example, 
afd,  etc.,  in  Figure  7,  must  change  places  with  a'fd', 
etc.  If  the  centre-change  is  then  to  be  maintained 
for  yet  another  kinema,  the  set  of  cosmoids  (or 
cosmic  row,  as  we  may  henceforth  term  it)  a'f'S! 
must  be  of  a  nature  to  permit  of  a  centre-change 


134         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

taking  place  amongst  its  members.  After  their 
migration  from  the  centre-change,  afd  may  per- 
sist in  the  cosmic  lines  of  their  migration,  taking 
the  former  positions  of  a"f"d",  or  some  of  them 
or  all  may  stray  into  new  cosmic  lines;  b  may  take 
the  former  position  of  b",  while  h  changes  with  d, 
and  /  with  a ;  h  and  a  may  then  change  with  one 
another  or  take  the  former  positions  of  d"  and  f". 
In  such  various  wise  may  these  and  succeeding 
migrants  from  the  centre-change  proceed  through- 
out the  cosmon  or  return  early  to  the  centre-change 
itself.  And  it  would  seem  probable  that,  with  the 
continuous  increase  of  restrictions  imposed  upon  the 
process  of  free-roving  by  the  hand  of  time,  all 
possible  combinations  of  persistence  in,  and  straying 
from,  cosmic  lines  on  the  part  of  migrants  from  the 
increasingly  frequent  formations  of  centre-changes 
would  eventually  be  realised,  even  if  the  contem- 
poraneous formation  of  centre-changes  had  not,  as 
we  shall  see  it  must  have,  a  marked  influence  upon 
the  process.  Most  of  the  earlier  centre- changes 
would  doubtless  perish  after  one  kinema  of  existence 
because  the  newly  imported  set  of  cosmoids  would 
find  better  alliances  offered  them  than  those  con- 
stituting a  complete  change  amongst  themselves. 
And  most  of  those  centre-changes  which  were  realised 
twice  consecutively  would  then  perish  because  of 
the  unfitness  of  the  third  imported  set  of  cosmoids. 
But   on   each   occasion,   when   importunities   from 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         135 

without  and  mutual  aversions  within  had  been 
satisfied  by  the  disruption  of  the  centre-change,  the 
same  conditions,  somewhat  modified  but  always 
more  and  more  emphasised  with  the  lapse  of  time, 
would  still  exist,  leading  to  the  proximate  reforma- 
tion of  a  similar  centre-change.  Not,  however, 
until  its  successive  sets  of  migrants  had  persisted 
or  strayed  in  such  a  way  as  to  ensure  the  presence, 
in  alternate  kinemas  at  the  border  of  the  centre- 

2  U 
change,  of  -y—  cosmoids  that  were  not  mutually 

unfriendly,  would  any  centre-change  attain  to  a 
considerable  degree  of  stability;  and  then  only 
provided  this  peculiar  system  of  supply  should 
safely  perpetuate  itself.  If  such  a  system  be  possi- 
ble it  seems  almost  certain  eventually  to  be  realised. 
To  discover  if  it  is  indeed  possible  being  one  object 
of  this  enquiry,  let  us  to  that  end  first  consider  some 
of  the  consequences  of  the  persistence  of  migrants 
in  the  cosmic  lines  of  their  migration.  In  this 
consideration  an  obvious  question,  How  are  we 
to  regard  geometrically  the  relation  of  a  centre- 
change  to  the  outlying  cosmon?  will  be  ignored, 
since  this  question  may  be  more  advantageously 
approached  after  the  completion  of  our  review  of 
the  various  conceivable  systems  of  supply. 

2  U 
If  all  -jr-   migrants  persist  indefinitely  in  their 

original    cosmic    lines,    they  will    ensure    the   ap- 


136        THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

pearance  at  the  border  of  the  centre-change  in 
alternate  kinemas  of  a  complete  set  or  cosmic  row 

2  U 
of   -jr-   cosmoids   which  were    mutually   adjacent 

at  the  time  when  they  were  displaced  inwards  by 
the  outgoing  migrants.  To  suppose  that  such  per- 
sistence of  migrants  could  result  in  any  prolonged 
maintenance  of  the  centre-change  is  to  suppose  that 

2  U 
all  sets  of  -=r-  mutually  adjacent  cosmoids  would  in 

successive  kinemas  become  disposed  to  a  centre- 
change  amongst  themselves;  a  supposition  which, 
in  view  of  the  necessary  conditions  of  free-roving, 
is  obviously  unworthy  of  consideration. 

If,  in  the  second  kinema  after  the  centre-change, 
all  the  migrants  stray  from  their  original  cosmic 
lines,  —  i.e.  change  places  with  one  another,  — 
the    centre-change    must   be    maintained   by   only 

2  U 
two  sets  of  -yr-  cosmoids  each,  and  could  not  long 

survive. 

It  seems,  then,  that  if  an  adequate  system  of 
supply  is  possible,  it  must  be  one  under  which  some 
of  the  migrants  persist  whilst  others  stray. 

Let  us  consider  the  implications  of  the  indefinite 
persistence  in  their  original  cosmic  line  of  a  single 
column  of  migrants,  separated  each  from  its  succes- 
sor by  a  displaced  cosmoid  which  likewise  will  ob- 
viously persist  in  the  cosmic  line  as  far  as  the  border 
of  the  centre-change. 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         137 

In  addition  to  the  above-mentioned  displacement 
of  cosmoids,  the  prime  migrant  —  i.e.  the  persistent 
migrant  which  is  the  most  distant  from  the  centre- 
change  of  all  the  migrants  in  its  own  cosmic  line  — 
provides  an  inducement  towards  the  centre-change 
amongst  every  set  of  cosmoids  equidistant  from  the 
centre-change  {i.e.  amongst  every  cosmic  row) 
through  which  it  passes.  The  result  of  this  passage 
of  a  prime  migrant  through  any  cosmic  row  is  that 
a  member  of  this  row  is  started  towards  the  centre- 
change  in  a  cosmic  line  adjacent  to  that  of  the  out- 
going migrant  and  incoming  displaced  cosmoid, 
and  is,  in  the  next  kinema  but  one,  followed  by  a 
second  member  of  the  same  row,  not  in  the  same 
but  in  an  adjacent  cosmic  line.  In  the  fourth, 
sixth,  eighth,  etc.,  kinemas  one  member  each  of  the 
same  row  is  started  towards  the  centre-change  in 
adjacent  cosmic  lines;  and  all  the  cosmoids  thus  ori- 
entated will,  if  not  systematically  interfered  with, 
persist  in  their  cosmic  lines  at  least  until  the  change 
next  but  two  to  the  centre-change  is  reached.  None 
of  the  migrants  in  any  given  cosmic  line  have  any 
effect  whatever  upon  the  cosmic  rows  through  which 
they  successively  pass  except  the  prime  migrant. 

The  reason  of  this  orientation  is  seen  in  Figure  10 
which  represents  the  passage  of  a  prime  migrant 
and  other  migrants  of  the  same  cosmic  line  through 
three  cosmic  rows. 

•  represents  a  persistent  migrant. 


138 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 


corm 


Pig.  10 


©  represents  an  orientate. 

ru~A  rePresent  free  rovers  of  like 
©©J      cosmic  rows. 

Let  the  centre-change  be  in  the 
direction  of  the  bottom  of  the  page. 

When,  at  (2),  the  prime  migrant 
displaces  a  rover  of  the  first  row 
(OO)  in  the  direction  of  the  centre- 
change,  it  by  so  much  relieves  the 
tension  of  free-roving  in  that  row. 
The  adjacent  rovers  of  the  same 
row  find  that  a  familiar,  outwearing 
associate  has  been  taken  off  their 
hands  and  effectually  disposed  of. 
A  tendency  is  thus  created  amongst 
them  to  follow  after  the  removed 
and  rejuvenated  rover  whose  new 
associates  have  better  to  offer  than 
anything  in  the  old  surroundings  of 
the  row.  But  the  greatest  induce- 
ment of  all  may  perhaps  be  offered 
by  the  presence  in  the  row  of  the  mi- 
grant itself,  which  would  probably  be 
the  least  familiar  cosmoid  in  the  im- 
mediate neighbourhood  of  a  row  sit- 
uated at  any  considerable  distance 
from  the  centre-change.  The  mi- 
grant, however,  refuses  all  offers  and 
passes  on ;  whereupon  either  ©  or  © 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE  139 

in  this  same  kinema,  or  either  of  their  successors  in 
the  following  kinema,  is  free  to  respond  to  the  induce- 
ment offered  by  the  removal  of  their  old  associate. 
The  only  movement  either  can  make  by  way  of  re- 
sponse is  in  a  cosmic  line  adjacent  to  that  in  which 
the  migrants  are  travelling,  since  there  is  no  place 
for  them  in  that  cosmic  line  which  is  composed  of 
migrants  and  displaced  cosmoids.  If  both  ©  and  © 
should  set  out  in  cosmic  lines  towards  the  centre- 
change,  one  or  other  of  them  would  soon  find  its 
progress  checked.  Only  one  rover  of  any  row  is 
displaced  by  a  prime  migrant.  If  more  than  one 
additional  rover  set  forth  at  once  for  the  renovating 
source,  all  but  that  one  which  is  systematically  for- 
warded to  the  centre-change  in  the  manner  presently 
to  be  described  would  fail,  except  by  a  rare  chance, 
to  reach  the  centre-change  because  of  those  very 
restrictions  upon  free-roving  which  have  led  to  the 
formation  of  the  centre-change.  If  many  rovers  of 
the  same  row  should  set  forth  together  for  the 
centre-change  in  response  to  the  inducement  offered 
by  a  single  migrant,  and  should  actually  reach  the 
border  of  the  centre-change,  they  would  by  virtue 
of  their  mutual  antipathies  constitute  a  menace  to 
the  centre-change  which  must  be  taken  account  of 
if  the  centre-change  was  disrupted  and  a  new  one 
formed  in  the  same  neighbourhood. 

Which  of  the  two  rovers  ©  or  ©  should  be  suc- 
cessful in  its  quest  and  at  the  same  time  destroy  for 


140         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF   CHANGE 

the  moment  the  inward  tendency  of  the  row,  was 
determined  at  the  time  of  the  prime  migrant's 
departure  from  the  centre-change.  Let  us  briefly 
consider  the  conditions  of  this  departure. 

If  it  is  not  already  obvious,  it  will  soon  appear 
that  the  persistence  of  all  migrants  for  one  kinema 
after  their  emergence  from  the  centre-change  is  a 
necessary  condition  of  the  mobility  of  centre-changes ; 
and  to  this  class  of  centre-changes  we  may  confine 
our  attention.  When  the  prime  migrant  under 
consideration  passed  through  the  third  outlying 
cosmic  row,  the  cosmoid  of  that  row  which  responded 
to  the  orientative  influence  would  be  that  cosmoid 
which  was  offered  the  best  inducement  by  a  member 
of  the  second  outlying  row.  The  member  of  the 
second  row  offering  such  inducement  would  be  a 
migrant  that  had  strayed  from  its  original  cosmic 
line.  Supposing  the  best  inducement  to  have  been 
offered  on  the  right  of  the  column  of  persistent 
migrants,  the  straying  migrant  which  then  replaced 
the  orientate  of  the  third  outlying  row  would  in 
the  next  kinema  offer  the  cosmoid  on  the  right  of 
the  persistent  migrants'  cosmic  line  in  the  fourth 
outlying  row  a  better  alliance  than  would  be  offered 
the  cosmoid  on  the  left. 

It  is  to  be  observed  parenthetically  that  rights 
and  lefts  are  here  only  a  manner  of  speaking  adopted 
in  conformity  to  the  exigencies  of  diagrammatic 
representation;    for  ©  and  ©  (Fig.  10)  are   them- 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         141 

selves  mutually  adjacent,  and  all  cosmic  lines  lead- 
ing to  the  centre-change  are  mutually  though  dif- 
ferently adjacent.  By  the  successive  orientation 
of  cosmoids  on  the  right  of  a  column  of  migrants  is 
meant  the  successive  orientation  of  cosmoids  that 
are  similarly  adjacent  to  the  migrants'  cosmic  line. 
The  straying  migrant  is  thus  induced  into  a  cosmic 
line  adjacent  to  that  of  the  prime  migrant  which  it 
henceforth  follows  at  a  distance  of  two  cosmoids,  be- 
ing itself  followed  at  intervals  of  two,  four,  six,  etc., 
cosmoids  by  similar  migrants  all  travelling  in  the 
same  cosmic  line.  These  induced  migrants  (®  and 
©,  Fig.  10)  ensure  the  persistence  of  orientates  in 
their  cosmic  line  at  least  as  far  as  the  change  next 
but  two  to  the  centre-change ;  but,  more  than  this, 
the  prime  or  leading  induced  migrant  will  inevi- 
tably orientate  a  cosmoid  in  every  cosmic  row 
through  which  it  passes,  for  it  offers  precisely  the 
same  inducement  as  the  original  prime  persistent 
migrant.  This  process  of  secondary  orientation  is 
represented  at  (4),  (5),  and  (6)  in  Figure  10.  And  the 
prime  induced  migrant  is  followed  at  intervals  of 
two,  four,  six,  etc.,  cosmoids,  in  an  adjacent  cosmic 
line,  by  another  set  of  induced  migrants,  of  which 
the  prime  migrant,  ©,  is  engaged  in  a  similar  process 
of  orientation.  Since  all  cosmic  lines  leading  to  the 
centre-change  are  mutually  adjacent,  and  since  each 
one  of  them  contains,  in  the  third  outlying  row, 
either  a  persistent  or  a  straying  migrant,  it  is  clear 


142         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

that  the  secondary  orientation  might,  and  if  not 
systematically  interfered  with  would  inevitably, 
spread  continuously  over  as  many  cosmic  lines  as 
there  were  units  of  distance  between  the  original 
prime  migrant  and  the  centre-change. 

That  no  migrant,  whether  originally  persistent 
or  induced,  is  ever  in  a  position  to  orientate,  except 
only  the  prime  migrants,  is  seen  in  the  diagram, 
which  shows  that  the  prime  migrants  alone  dis- 
place members  of  cosmic  rows. 

If  any  migrant  persists  in  its  original  cosmic  line 

2  U 
for  as  many  as  -y-  kinemas,  the  wave  of  its  orientates 

will  spread  over  all  cosmic  lines  that  pass  through 
the    centre-change.     If    more    than    one    original 

2  U 

migrant  persists  for  *^—  kinemas,  the  result  will  be 

that,  in  the  change  next  but  two  to  the  centre-change, 
all  displaced  rovers  that  have  been  drawn  towards 
the  centre-change  will  have  eliminated  an  equal  num- 
ber of  otherwise  possible  orientates.  The  elimination 
of  the  orientate  is  illustrated  in  Figure  11,  in  which 
it  is  seen  that  the  prime  induced  migrant  ©  has  not 
exerted  the  orientative  influence  upon  the  row  QQ 
which  it  would  have  exerted  but  for  the  persistence 
of  an  original  migrant  in  the  adjacent  cosmic  line. 
Both  ©  and  ©  are  displaced  rovers  which  deny  to 
©  the  power  of  orientation. 
The  importance  of  the  elimination  of  orientates 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE  143 

as  a  factor  in  the  efficiency  of  systems  of  supplying 
a  centre-change  will  obviously  be  very  great,  if 
the  most  efficient  systems  are  found  u(Yy  X_XT7 
to  be  those  in  which  the  successive 
straying  of  migrants  leaves  an  ever 
weaker  migratory  representation  in 
cosmic  rows  in  proportion  to  their 
distance  from  the  centre-change. 
Every  orientate  eliminated  will  then  (2> 
mean  the  subtraction  of  one  from 
the  number  of  cosmoids  in  its  own 
cosmic  row  that  must  participate  in 
every  kinema  of  the  centre-change. 
In  place  of  the  eliminated  orientate  (3) 
is  always  a  displaced  cosmoid  from 
a  row  whose  numerical  representa- 
tion in  the  centre-change  is  weaker. 
Now  it  is  clear  that,  if  one  or 
more  original  migrants  persist  in 
their  cosmic  lines  for  as  many  as 

2  U 

-j—  kinemas,  the  sum  of  the  orien- 
tates  and    displaced    rovers    taking 
part  in   any  kinema  in  the  change  ,  \      (?) 
next  but  two  to  the   centre-change       (  XaX-V>X  X ) 
will    be    the    number   of   displaced  "Eigr- 11 

rovers  that  took  part  in  the  preceding  change,  plus 
the  number  of  prime  migrants,  original  and  induced, 
persisting  in  that  kinema  in   their    cosmic   lines, 


m 


144         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

minus  the  number  of  otherwise  possible  orientates 
that  have  been  eliminated  by  displaced  rovers. 
But  for  every  orientate  that  has  been  eliminated 
there  is  present  in  the  change  under  consideration 
a  displaced  rover.  Thus  a  simpler  and  equivalent 
statement  is  that  there  are  in  any  kinema  as  many 
fresh  cosmoids  taking  part  in  the  change  next  but 
two  to  the  centre-change  as  there  are  prime  per- 
sistent migrants,  original  and  induced,  which  are 
in  that  kinema  in  a  position  to  orientate.  This 
statement,  however,  is  true  only  provided  all  the 
migrants  in  any  cosmic  line  stray  from  that  line  at 
the  same  distance  from  the  centre-change.  That 
such  would  indeed  be  the  case  becomes  patent  upon 
further  consideration.  So  long  as  a  prime  migrant 
persists  in  its  original  cosmic  line,  each  of  the  follow- 
ing migrants  of  the  same  cosmic  line  finds  that  in 
each  kinema  no  better  alliance  is  available  than 
that  one  which  enables  it  to  get  as  far  away  as 
possible  from  its  most  recent  associate.  This  alli- 
ance is  furnished  by  a  cosmoid  which  was  originally 
displaced  from  its  row  by  the  prime  migrant,  and 
with  which  each  following  migrant  is  consequently 
as  unfamiliar  as  with  any  other  adjacent  cosmoid. 
The  displaced  cosmoid  is,  of  course,  likewise  inclined 
to  this  alliance  above  all  others.  Thus,  while  the 
prime  migrant  persists  in  the  cosmic  line,  all  follow- 
ing migrants  will  so  persist.  When  a  prime  migrant 
strays,  it  may  conceivably,  after  its  first  departure 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE 


145 


from  the  original  cosmic  line,  keep  to  a  new  cosmic 
line.  If  so,  the  following  migrants  will  stray  at 
the  same  distance  from  the  centre-  ( y  Y  Y  Y YY 
change  and  in  the  same  new  cosmic  • 

line.  The  process  is  represented  in 
Figure  12.  If  the  migrant  be  sup- 
posed to  stray  after  reaching  the 
row  OO,  the  only  departure  it  can 
make  from  its  original  cosmic  line  (2) 
is  into  the  row  itself.  (Cf.  Fig.  7.) 
It  may  then  change  with  ©  (Fig.  12). 
To  persist  in  its  new  cosmic  line 
means  to  change  next  with  ©,  this 
cosmic  line  being  equivalent  to  afff 
in  Figure  7.  At  (4),  in  Figure  12, 
the  displaced  cosmoid  for  the  follow- 
ing migrant  to  change  with  is  ©, 
which  will  pursue  that  cosmic  line 
in  which  it  is  offered  the  best  alli- 
ance. ©,  on  the  other  hand,  has  (4) 
no  preponderating  inclination  to 
change  with  the  following  migrant 
because  of  its  new  adjacency  to  the 
prime  migrant.  ©,  then,  takes  the 
position  shown  at  (5).  It  will  be  (5) 
seen  that  with  the  migrants'  change 
of  cosmic  lines  systematic  orienta-  E*gr< 12 

tion  towards  the  centre-change  ceases.  The  prime 
migrant's  change  with  ©  has  obviously  no  orienta- 


146         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

tive  consequence.  Its  subsequent  departure  from 
the  row  GO  leaves  an  orientative  impulse  in  that 
row.  But,  at  (5),  ©  may  not  satisfy  this  impulse 
because  ©  would  repel  its  advances.  It  must  there- 
fore be  another  cosmoid,  as  ©,  which  moves  into 
the  row  QO,  where  it  finds  no  induced  migrant  to 
attract  it  further  towards  the  centre-change.  At 
(4)  the  induced  migrant  ©  may  not  persist  in  its 
original  cosmic  line.  Not  only  does  it  not,  as 
hitherto,  find  an  orientate  desiring  its  alliance,  but 
the  rover  ©  may  not  change  with  it  because  of  the 
requirements  of  ©,  which  may  not  change  with  the 
prime  migrant  and  will  not  change  with  ©,  which  is 
in  the  opposite  direction  from  the  renovating  in- 
fluence. ©  therefore  changes  with  ©;  and  ©  enters 
a  new  cosmic  line,  its  last  orientative  influence 
having  been  exerted  in  the  row  next  to  OO  in  the 
direction  of  the  centre-change. 

In  those  cases  in  which  the  original  prime  migrant, 
in  straying  from  its  original  cosmic  line,  does  not 
keep  to  a  new  cosmic  line  —  and  such  would  doubt- 
less in  time  come  to  be  the  universal  procedure  — 
the  straying  of  following  migrants  and  the  cessa- 
tion of  systematic  orientation  are  an  obvious  neces- 
sity which  requires  no  separate  illustration. 

From  these  considerations  we  derive  the  follow- 
ing general  statement :  Any  system  of  supply  that 
might  maintain  a  centre-change  for  any  period 
would  be  self-perpetuating  during  this  period. 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE  147 

It  is  readily  to  be  seen  that  many  a  centre-change 

forming  under  those  conditions  which  were  making 

its  formation  inevitable  would  be  far  from  deficient 

in  means  of  support,  if  its  agents  were  only  required 

to  supply  cosmoids  from  distant  regions  of  the  cos- 

mon ;  for  the  persistence  in  cosmic  lines  of  but  a  few 

migrants   from   the   centre-change  —  a   persistence 

such  as  would  doubtless  occur  in  all  possible  degrees 

of  numerical  importance  —  would  be  the  means  of 

inducing   into   cosmic   lines   an   indefinite   number 

2  U 
(up  to  — -  per  two  kinemas)  of  straying  migrants. 

This  deadwood  of  discarded  cosmoids  would  thus 
be  effectually  removed,  and  an  indefinite  number  of 
fresh  cosmoids  would  in  alternate  kinemas  be  de- 
posited at  the  border  of  the  centre-change  ready  for 
use.     But  since  the  cosmon  consists  of  a  succession 

2  U 
of  cosmic  rows,  each  row  containing  —r—  cosmoids, 

it  is  obvious  that  supplies  brought  from  distant 
regions  of  the  cosmon  will  be  inadequate  to  the 
maintenance  of  a  centre-change  for  as  long  a  period 
as  is  possible  within  the  portion  of  the  cosmon  visited 
by  its  migrants  unless  each  set  of  cosmoids  arriving 
simultaneously  at  the  border  of  the  centre-change 
come  from  the  most  different  possible  regions  of  the 
cosmon,  and  from  the  most  dissimilarly  adjacent 
portions  of  necessarily  similar  regions  of  the  cosmon. 
An  instance  of  the  menace  to  the  integrity  of  centre- 


148         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

changes  contained  in  the  orientation  of  similarly  ad- 
jacent portions  of  cosmic  rows  would  be  as  follows : 

If,  from  the  row  next  but  one  to  any  centre- 
change,  as  many  as  -^-y-  migrants  persisted  in  their 

original  cosmic  lines  for  as  many  as  sixteen  kinemas, 
the  consequence  of  such  persistence  would  be  that 
the  company  of  orientates  and  displaced  cosmoids 
provided  for  the  renewal  of  this  centre-change 
would  be  divisible  into  groups  of  mutually  unfriendly 
cosmoids  which  had  been  displaced  or  orientated 
at  similar  positions  in  the  same  and  in  adjacent  rows. 
And  the  lapse  of  time  would  cause  this  mutual 
unfriendliness  to  become  rapidly  more  marked. 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  if  the  centre-change  is  to  be 
maintained  for  the  longest  period  compatible  with 
the  ultimate  resources  of  that  portion  of  the  cosmon 
which  comes  under  its  influence,  migrants  must  per- 
sist in  such  numbers,  for  such  periods,  and  in  such 
lines,  as  will  ensure  the  participation  in  the  change 
next  but  two  to  the  centre-change  of  exactly  as 
many  orientates  from  dissimilarly  adjacent  portions 
of  the  cosmon  as  there  are  straying  migrants  from 
the  second  outlying  row  requiring  to  be  induced 
away  in  cosmic  lines.  These  orientates  together 
with  the  consequently  dissimilarly  displaced  cos- 
moids taking  part  in  the  same  change  would  provide 
the  centre-change  with  the  exact  amount  of  fresh 
cosmoids  that  it  required,  none  of  which  would  nee- 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE 


149 


essarily  be  mutually  unfriendly,  and  all  of  which 
might  be  mutually  welcome  if  the  persistence  of 
migrants  was  a  process  as  symmetrical  as  in  many 
of  the  vast  number  of  cases  of  centre-change  for- 
mation it  must  chance  to  be. 

Let  us  examine  some  conceivable  systems  of 
supply,  adequate  or  inadequate  to  the  task  of 
maintaining  a  centre-change  for  any  period  likely 
to  ensure  its  having  a  considerable  effect  upon  the 
process  of  free-roving. 

2  U 
Supposing  that,  of  the  -j—  migrants  issuing  in 

each  second  kinema  from  a  centre-change,  but  a  sin- 
gle one  persisted  thenceforth  in  its  original  cosmic 
line  (AB,  Fig.  13),  and  that  this  mi-  b 
grant  and  its  following  migrants  so 

2  U 

persisted  for  -=-  kinemas  and  then 

strayed;  there  would  result  from 
this  persistence,  and  from  the  conse- 
quent induction  of  straying  migrants 
into    cosmic   lines   to    distances    of 

rig.  JS 

2TJ  2U 

-j: 1,  -=r — 2,  etc.,  cosmoids  from  the  centre- 
change,  a  deposit  in  alternate  kinemas  at  the  border 
of  the  centre-change  of  cosmoids  exactly  sufficient  in 
number  to  remove  the  discarded  straying  migrants 
and  to  renew  the  centre-change.  But  there  are 
obvious  disadvantages  in  this  system  of    supply. 


150         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  hardly  supposable  that  the 
centre-change  should  not  have  been  disrupted  by 
the  congestion  of  straying  migrants  long  before  the 
system  of  relief  had  been  established.  But  even 
if  the  centre-change  had  managed  somehow  to 
supply  itself  in  the  meantime,  the  system  would  still 
be  defective.  Under  its  operation  displaced  and 
orientated  cosmoids  would  be  taken  from  the  same 
portions  of  cosmic  rows  while  the  other  portions 
of  these  rows  remained  unorganized.  Its  life  would 
then  be  short  as  compared  with  that  of  centre- 
changes  supplied  under  other  conceivable  systems. 
It  is  clear  that  the  system  possessing  the  highest 
efficiency  would  be  one  under  which  the  most  distant 
possible  regions  of  the  cosmon  were  visited,  and 
under  which  all  migrants  persisting  as  far  as  any 
given  cosmic  row  arrived  in  the  most  dissimilarly 
adjacent  portions  of  that  row.  And  this  system 
is  readily  to  be  discovered  upon  the  examination  of 
but  two  other  systems  of  supply.  Of  these  two  the 
advantages  and  disadvantages  are  obvious  enough; 
and  from  them  it  will  appear  that  no  other  system 
need  be  considered. 

A.  In  the  third  kinema  after  the  centre-change, 
one-half  of  the  migrants  persist  in  the  original 
cosmic  lines;  and  in  each  succeeding  kinema  the 
number  of  persistent  migrants  is  reduced  by  one-half. 

B.  The  second  kinema  after  that  of  the  centre- 
change  being  Kinema  No.  1,  as  many  migrants  per- 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE 


151 


sist  in  their  original  cosmic 
lines  in  each  succeeding  ki- 
nema  as  the  square  of '  the 
number  of  the  kinema  is  con- 

2U 


tained  times  in 


D 


The  persistence  of  migrants 
under  these  two  systems  is 
represented  collaterally  in 
Figure  14,  Kinema  n  being 
that  kinema  beyond  which 
no  migrant  persists  in  its 
original  cosmic  line.1 

In    each    second    kinema, 

under  A,  —  orientates  would 

take  part  in  the  change  next 
but  two  to  the  centre-change, 
and  would  be  just  sufficient 

to  induce  the  j-  straying  mi- 
grants into  cosmic  lines  and 
remove  them  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  centre- 
change.     And   at   the   same 

time    —    displaced   cosmoids 

would  arrive  from  various 
regions;     thus     the     centre- 

1  For  kinema  may  be  substituted 
cosmoid  or  unit  of  distance. 


K 

A 

B 

n 

l 

l 

8 

U 

64  D 

U 

32  D 

7 

U 

32  D 

2U 

40  D 

6 

U 

16  D 

u 

18  D 

5 

U 

2U 

25  D 

4 

U 

40 

U 

sD 

3 

U 

2D 

2U 

oD 

2 

U 
D 

U 

2D 

1 

2U 

D 

2U 

D 

Fig.  14 


152         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

change  would  receive  material  sufficient  in  amount 
for  its  support.  It  is  obvious,  however,  that,  un- 
der A,  a  much  smaller  portion  of  the  cosmon  would 
be  affected  than  under  B.  Hence  the  life  of  centre- 
changes  supplied  under  it  must  be  much  shorter; 
and  when  we  come  to  consider  the  relations  be- 
tween centre-changes,  we  shall  see  that  the  formation 
of  centre-changes  under  A  would  not  be  favoured 
by  the  contemporaneous  existence  of  centre-changes 
supplied  under  the  better  system.  A  further  defect 
in  A  is  that  under  this  system  no  single  migrant 
could  persist  in  its  original  cosmic  line  for  as  many 

2  U 

as kinemas.     In  each  kinema  the  ratio  of  stray- 

D 

ing  to  persistent  migrants  is  constant  and  equals  1. 

Therefore  Kinema  n  could  not  be  identical  with 

2  U  2U 

Kinema  — -,  no  matter  what  was  the  value  of  —— . 

2  U 

And  if  — —  was  greater,  these  two  kinemas  would  be 

2  U 
no  nearer  to  one  another  than  if  — —  was  smaller. 

Since,  then,  no  migrant  could  persist  for  ~rr  kinemas, 

U  • 

nor  any  two  migrants  for  —  kinemas,  nor  any  eight 

U  . 

for  jn,   that  elimination  of  orientates   described 

above  (page  142  et  seq.)  could  not  be  accomplished  to 
its  fullest  extent.  Under  any  conceivable  variety  of 
A,  it  would  doubtless  occur  in  comparatively  small 
measure,  and  the  participants  in  the  centre-change 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         153 

would  always,  in  consequence,  be  dangerously  well 
acquainted.  Nor  would  any  modification  of  A 
ensure  the  persistence  of  a  migrant  for  as  many  as 

2  U 

kinemas  without  at  the  same  time  increasing 

the  orientation  in  such  a  way  as  to  produce  an 
equivalent  result. 

Systems  such  as  A  may  perhaps  be  regarded  as 
stepping-stones  to  B  which  possesses  both  the  qualifi- 
cations that  were  lacking  in  A.  The  better  we  com- 
prehend the  implications  of  the  diagram,  the  more 
deeply  are  we  impressed  with  the  enormous  difference 
in  efficiency  between  these  two   systems.     If  the 

quantity  — -  be  sufficiently  great  or  sufficiently  small, 

the  series  of  diminishing  ratios  of  the  straying  mi- 
grants, under  B,  will  eventually  coincide  with  the 
series  of  index  numbers  of  the  kinemas :   Kinema  n 

2U 

will  be  identical  with  Kinema  -=r-  ;  i.e.  ■     r7X2,  will 

D  (2  UY 

equal  1.  Under  the  most  symmetrical  and  therefore 
longest-lived  form  of  B,  all  migrants  would  arrive 
in  the  most  dissimilarly  adjacent  portions  of  cosmic 
rows,  and  all  orientates  from  rows  near  the  centre- 
change  would  be  eliminated. 

Some  such  series  of  ratios  as  under  B  is  what  we 
should  expect  to  find  of  use  in  describing  any  one- 


154         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

dimensional  process.  That  the  centre-change  must 
inevitably  be  evolved  in  the  course  of  our  symbolical 
cosmic  life,  and  that,  once  evolved  and  maintained, 
it  would  undoubtedly  occasion  the  postponement  for 
a  considerable  period  of  the  otherwise  inevitable 
dead-lock  in  free-roving,  are,  under  the  circum- 
stances, interesting  considerations.  Under  any  other 
circumstances  their  significance  would  be  doubtful. 
If  the  centre-change  had  shown  that  it  might  be 
indefinitely  maintained  in  accordance  with  a  strictly 
mathematical  process  of  regeneration,  it  would  prob- 
ably be  useless  to  proceed  further  with  any  enquiry 
into  its  implications,  for  we  should  then  believe  it 
to  have  little  or  no  value  as  an  intermediate  symbol 
of  ultimate  processes.  In  the  universe  in  which  we 
live  two  things  may  safely  be  said  of  numbers. 
One  is,  that  they  are  at  least  an  approximate  measure 
of  phenomena  or  appearances  within  certain  limits ; 
the  other  is,  that  beyond  these  limits  they  cease  to 
be  even  an  approximate  measure.  They  carry  in 
themselves  both  the  assertion  of  their  restricted, 
approximate  validity,  and  the  admission  of  their 
ultimate  and  absolute  incompetence ;  and  in  the  two 
systems  of  supplying  a  centre-change  that  we  have 
been  considering  they  furnish  us  with  both  intima- 
tions. If,  they  say,  we  are  of  any  value  whatever, 
do  not  expect  that  any  process  of  ultimate  dimen- 
sions or  of  cosmical  implications  will  be  described  by 
a  series  to  which  we  can  place  the  final  term.    Your 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         155 

system  A   lies  within   our  jurisdiction.     Under  it, 

2  U 

we  can  assure  you,  n  could  never  equal  — -.    But 

when  you  approach  the  ultimate  possibilities  of  a 
universe  in  which  nothing  is  fixed,  you  can  hardly 
expect  us,  the  unchanging  creatures  of  your  own 
brain,  to  provide  you  with  an  adequate  formula. 
Of  your  process  B  only  that  portion  lies  within  our 
jurisdiction  which  has  been  incorporated  within  your 
own,  our  parents',  very  limited  experience.  Outside 
these  limits  we  guarantee  nothing  save  our  own 
incompetence.  Nevertheless,  you  say  that  the  uni- 
verse of  continuous  change,  which  is  the  only 
conceivable  universe,  requires  that  a  quantity  suffi- 
ciently great  or  sufficiently  small,  if  divided  by  its 
square,  shall  produce  the  quotient  1.  Well,  this 
may  be  guessed  from  our  behaviour  in  the  series 
in  question. 

Thus  the  process  by  which  all  stable  centre-changes 
would  be  maintained  is  precisely  that  kind  of  process 
in  which  it  is  possible  to  place  belief,  —  a  process,  to 
wit,  which  in  its  entirety  is  not  measurable  by  num- 
bers, but  which  within  certain  limits  is  approximately 
so  measurable. 

At  this  point  it  is  perhaps  desirable  that,  risking 
repetition,  we  define  somewhat  more  fully  than 
hitherto  our  position  in  this  enquiry  into  the  probable 
behaviour  of  the  apparent  cosmoids. 


156         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

It  is  unnecessary  to  rehearse  our  reasons  for  postu- 
lating the  one-dimension  universe,  since  they  are 
well  known  and  readily  comprehensible.  Having 
postulated  this  universe,  of  which  the  essential  prin- 
ciple is  continuous  change  and  in  which  all  possible 
differences  must  be  realised  in  all  time,  it  became 
an  obvious  necessity  to  represent  its  change  in  the 
sum  by  the  units  of  an  imaginary  imperishable  sub- 
stance in  continuous  motion.  Our  cosmoid  was  a 
symbol,  or  potentially  an  "appearance,"  such  as 
alone  was  capable  of  treatment  in  actual  language. 
This  symbol,  to  have  any  correspondence  with  its 
prototype,  must  be  invested  with  the  attribute  of  an 
ability  to  profit  by  experience,  —  an  attribute  which, 
though  doubtless  illusory  when  considered  as  a 
possession  of  the  human  race  itself,  does  neverthe- 
less seem  to  be  possessed  by  all  animate  things,  and 
which,  as  a  seeming  attribute,  is  not  to  be  excluded 
from  the  inanimate  world.  Our  so-called  free-roving 
and  the  growing  restrictions  imposed  upon  it,  the 
consequent  formation  of  the  centre-change  and  its 
dissolution  under  the  most  various  circumstances, 
leading  eventually  to  the  persistence  of  mobile  centre- 
changes,  the  process  of  displacement  and  orienta- 
tion of  restricted  free  rovers,  permitting  the  survival 
of  those  centre-changes  alone  which  are  supplied 
under  a  system  not  wholly  referable  to  the  principles 
of  numbers,  —  all  these  episodes  in  the  career  of 
the   apparent   cosmoids   seem   naturally   derivable 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         157 

from  that  essential  attribute  with  which,  if  they  are 
suitable  symbols,  they  must  be  invested.  Incom- 
plete as  may  be  our  diagrammatic  representations 
of  cosmical  processes,  they  deal  nevertheless  with 
legitimate  subjects  of  enquiry  and  may  lead  to  in- 
teresting conclusions. 

Our  cosmoids  and  the  centre-changes  evolved  in 
the  course  of  their  free-roving  have  not  as  yet  shown 
a  definite  correspondence  with  any  observed  appear- 
ances; and  if  they  fail  to  show  a  reasonable  proba- 
bility of  such  correspondence,  our  consideration 
of  them  will  have  been  lacking  in  interest.  But 
since  the  centre-change  has  indeed  indicated  a 
possibility  of  such  correspondence,  let  us  proceed 
to  enquire  into  the  probable  implications  of  its 
motions. 

It  will  be  seen  that  a  centre-change  would  be 
capable  of  motion  in  a  cosmic  line  or  of  revolution 
about  its  own  centre.  In  the  former  case  a  centre- 
change  would  be  executed  in  the  first  outlying  row 
by  the  newly  imported  set  of  cosmoids,  and  the  old 
centre-change  would  become  the  first  outlying  row  of 
cosmoids  destined  to  persist  and  stray  as  migrants. 
This  symbolical  necessity  of  regarding  a  centre- 
change  as  a  limit  in  front  of  which  lies  the  whole 
cosmon  will  presently  be  considered. 

However  unlikely  it  may  later  appear  that  any 
but  the  earliest  centre-changes  would  ever  be  suffered 
to  move  in  a  cosmic  line  at  a  uniform  velocity,  it 


158         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

seems  highly  probable  that  if  a  centre-change  did  so 
move,  its  accompanying  system  or  field  of  organised 
cosmon  would  not  be  disturbed  within  itself  but, 
since  all  cosmic  lines  leading  to  the  centre-change 
are  mutually  adjacent,  would  merely  be  shifted  from 
one  portion  of  the  cosmon  to  another,  in  accordance 
with  the  motion  of  the  centre-change  itself.  But 
during  periods  of  acceleration  or  retardation  or  of 
revolution  about  its  centre,  all  the  regenerating 
cosmoids  would,  on  reaching  the  centre-change,  find 
themselves  in  different  situations  from  those  of 
their  immediate  predecessors,  and  all  the  cosmic 
lines  of  displacement  and  orientation  would  in 
consequence  suffer  a  change.  The  centre-change 
would  then  be  disrupted  and  at  once  reformed  from 
the  material  immediately  at  hand,  having  meanwhile 
exercised  a  new  influence  in  all  portions  of  the  cosmon 
lying  within  its  field.  Our  symbolical  centre-change 
would  thus  possess  something  akin  to  the  property 
of  matter  called  inertia. 

The  question  now  arises,  What  could  give  direction, 
or  velocity,  or  any  distinguishing  feature  to  the 
motion  of  a  centre-change?  If  there  was  but  one 
centre-change  in  the  universe;  or  if,  of  a  number 
of  contemporaneous  centre-changes,  no  two  lay  each 
within  the  other's  field,  it  would  seem  that  there 
could  be  nothing  to  determine  this  motion.  But 
centre-changes  lying  within  one  another's  fields  would 
be  drawn  towards  one  another  by  the  attractive 


THE  FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         159 

power  of  their  migrants.  For  the  field  of  one  centre- 
change  is  different,  at  least  in  its  relation  to  the 
centre-change,  from  that  of  every  other;  and  its 
supplies  are  drawn  from  dissimilarly  adjacent  por- 
tions of  any  region  of  the  cosmon  shared  by  these 
fields. 

The  passage  of  persistent  migrants  from  one 
centre-change  through  another  centre-change  should 
here  be  considered  in  its  general  aspect. 

The  system  of  supply  B  being  uniform  and  the 
most  symmetrical  possible,  certain  of  the  migrants 
of  the  one  centre-change  would  be  identical  first 
with  certain  of  the  displaced  cosmoids  and  afterwards 
with  certain  of  the  migrants  of  the  other;  and  the 
strength  of  the  mutual  attraction  of  the  two  centre- 
changes  would  vary  inversely  with  the  square  of  the 
distance  between  them. 

It  is  important  to  observe  that  two  centre-changes 

separated  by  a  distance  of    not    more  than    — - 

cosmoids    could   not   fail   to   attract   one   another 

through   the   agency  of   their   migrants;    for  any 

cosmoid,  as  a,  of  either  centre-change  is  in  a  cosmic 

line  with  every  cosmoid  of  the  other  centre-change ; 

and  of  all  these  cosmic  lines  containing  a,  at  least 

one  must  be  identical  with  a  cosmic  line  of  migration. 

This  means  that  the  migrant  from  any  centre-change 

2  U 
which  keeps  to  its  cosmic  line  for  — —  kinemas  passes 


1G0         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

through  every  other  centre-change  that  is  distant  no 

2  U 
more  than  ——  cosmoids.     Hence  no  two  centre- 
changes  could  be  equidistant  from  a  third. 

Any  migrant  from  any  centre-change,  as  a,  would 
possess  a  twofold  attraction  for  another  centre- 
change,  as  c,  if  it  had,  in  the  interval  of  its  journey 
between  the  two,  passed  through  and  become  a 
migrant  of  a  third  centre-change,  as  b,  since  it  would 
possess  the  inducement  inherent  in  its  participation 
in  the  momentary  results  of  two  complete  systems 
of  cosmical  exploration  instead  of  only  one.  If  c 
responded  appropriately,  it  would  find  the  promise 
of  a's  migrant  justified  in  the  issue.  If  c  failed  to 
respond  appropriately,  whilst  a  fourth  centre-change, 
as  d,  did  so  respond,  d  would  have  scored  a  point  in 
longevity  over  c.  But  a's  migrant  would  doubtless 
be  well  known  to  some,  if  not  all,  of  the  cosmoids  of 
both  c  and  d.  Moreover,  this  migrant  must  have 
passed  through  b,  if  b  was  nearer  to  a  than  was  c; 
and  since  no  two  centre-changes  may  be  equidistant 
from  a  third  nor,  therefore,  bear  in  any  way  the  same 
relation  to  a  third,  its  passage  through  b  must  have 
been  different  in  character  from  its  passage  through  a. 
And  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  portion  of,  not  a  straight,  but 
a  cosmic  line,  it  must  bear  evidence  to  c  of  the  peculiar 
character  of  its  passage  through  b.  Hence  both  c 
and  d  would  doubtless  respond  appropriately  to  the 
twofold  inducement;    and   if   d  was  at  a   greater 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         161 

distance  from  a  than  was  c,  the  inducement  offered 
to  d  by  this  single  migrant  would  be  threefold. 

It  is  obvious  that  no  centre-change  could  over- 
take and  pass  another  centre-change  on  its  way  to  a 
third,  since  there  could  be  no  inducement  for  it  to  do 
so ;  moreover,  there  is  room  in  the  cosmon  for  but 
one  centre-change  at  any  given  distance  from  an- 
other centre- change. 

We  have  already  proceeded  far  enough  with  our 
consideration  of  the  centre-changes  to  become  fully 
aware  that  no  geometrically  satisfactory  image  of 
their  motions  may  be  formed.  Though  they  are 
themselves  but  the  partially  geometrical  symbols 
of  a  fleeting  reality,  the  conditions  of  their  existence 
are  so  essentially  ungeometrical  in  character,  so 
completely  lacking  in  possibilities  of  a  direct  relation 
to  the  human  sense  of  sight  or  of  touch,  that  in  any 
"picture"  that  we  may  form  of  their  relations  with 
one  another  certain  features  must  be  absent  which 
are  invariably  present  in  all  the  pictures  contained 
in  our  sense  experience.  Nevertheless,  it  seems  by 
no  means  impossible  that  further  statements  should 
be  made  about  them,  as  to  which  statements  we 
seeing  and  feeling  humans  might  agree  that  certain  of 
them  were  more  likely  to  be  true  than  others.  If 
so,  it  is  by  no  means  impossible  that  a  sufficient 
number  of  such  statements  should  lead  to  an  interest- 
ing guess  at  the  nature  of  the  correspondence,  if  any 


M 


162         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

correspondence  exist,  between  the  resultants  of  the 
motions  of  centre-changes  and  the  motions  observed 
in  our  actual  life.  Let  us  by  all  means  enquire  if  any 
such  guess  is  feasible.  But  we  may  never  forget 
that,  in  digging  into  this  hypothetical  intermediate 
stratum  between  superficial  appearances  and  deepest 
reality,  such  implements  as  sight-imagination  and 
touch-imagination  will  be  only  occasionally,  and  then 
partially,  of  use. 

Each  centre-change  —  which,  as  a  relation,  we 
found  to  be  equivalent  to  a  geometrical  point  — 
is,  when  symbolically  regarded,  the  centre  of  its 
universe.     In  front  of  it,  or  outside  of  it,  extends 

2  U 

that  succession  of  cosmic  rows,  containing  each  — 

cosmoids,  which  constitute  the  cosmon ;  and  there  is 
nothing  inside  of  it  or  behind  it.  Hence  no  centre- 
change  could  be  adjacent  to  more  than  one  other 

centre-change. 

But  the  cosmon,  in  its  par- 
tially or  potentially  geomet- 
rical aspect,  may  not  be  re- 
garded exclusively  from  the 
point  of  view  of  any  single 
centre-change.  It  must  in- 
Eig.  15  stead  be  regarded  from  the 

point  of  view  of  all  existent  centre-changes. 

If,  then,   there  were  at  any  time  three  centre- 


CD 


(2) 


(3) 


a 

b 

c 

b 

0, 

c 

rn 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE 


163 


changes  in  the  cosmon,  such  an  arrangement  of  them 
as  illustrated  in  Figure  15  would  be  possible.  At 
(1)  are  represented  six  cosmic  rows  from  the  point 
of  view  of  one  of  these  centre-changes,  a;  at  (2), 
the  same  six  rows  from  the  point  of  view  of  b ;  at 
(3),  from  the  point  of  view  of  c.  From  no  point 
of  view  is  any  one  of  these  centre-changes  adjacent 


l 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

1 

8 

9 

10 

11 

(1) 

a 

b 

C 

d 

(2) 

b 

a 

c 

d 

(3) 

c 

d 

b 

a 

(4) 

d 

c 

b 

a 

Fig.  16 

to  more  than  one  of  the  others,  nor  are  any  two  of 
them  equidistant  from  the  third. 

Figure  16  represents  a  possible  arrangement  of 
four  centre-changes. 

But  four  centre-changes  could  not  be  formed 
in  the  relative  positions  shown  in  Figure  17,  in 
which  it  is  seen  that  b  and  d  are  equidistant  from  c. 
If  c  did  not  exist,  a,  b,  and  d  might  occupy  the 
positions    indicated   without   mutual    interference. 


164         THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

But  no  centre-change  could  then  be  formed  in  the 
row  8  (from  a's  point  of  view). 

It  is  seen,  then,  that  every  centre-change  occupies 
as  many  different  positions  in  the  cosmon  as  there 
are  other  centre-changes  in  the  cosmon.     But  any 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

7 

8 

9 

10 

11 

a 

b 

c 

d 

Hg.  17 

given  centre-change  could  occupy  at  any  given 
moment  but  one  position  in  respect  of  any  other 
centre-change.  If,  for  example,  the  relations  of  b,  c, 
and  d  to  a  are  as  at  (1)  in  Figure  16,  these  centre- 
changes  could  not  at  the  same  time  occupy  other 
positions  in  respect  of  a,  such  as  might  diagrammati- 
cally  be  derived  from  (2)  in  Figure  16  (as  in  Fig.  18). 
Such  a  folding  and  refolding  of  the  cosmon,  if 
regarded  from  the  point  of  view  of  reality,  would 
imply  the  identity  of  all  cosmic  rows,  and  so  would 
demonstrate  the  unity  of  the  cosmon.  But  a  centre- 
change,  in  so  far  as  it  embodies  a  geometrical  concept, 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

7 

8 

9 

10 

11 

a 

C 

b 

d 

Fig.  18 

may  not  be  identified  with  an  ungeometrical  row 
of  free  rovers  nor  with  another  centre-change,  any 
more  than  I  may,  as  a  human  being,  be  identified 
with  my  brother.  Centre-changes  are  not  realities 
but  appearances;    they  are  those  things  which  the 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         165 

real  cosmon  would  have  formed  if  it  had  endured 
instead  of  continuously  dying  in  giving  birth  to 
new  and  different  cosmon.  Therefore  centre-changes 
must,  like  human  beings  or  atoms,  be  regarded 
numerically. 

When  the  restrictions  upon  the  process  of  free- 
roving  had  resulted  in  the  formation  of  billions  of 
centre-changes,  it  is  clear,  then,  that  these  centre- 
changes  must  have  been  formed  at  vast  distances 
from  one  another  from  any  given  point  of  view. 

Upon  further  consideration  of 

first,  the  diagrams  (Figs.  15,  16,  and   17)   and, 

second,  the  attraction  of  one  centre-change  for 
another,  —  a  force  varying  inversely  with  the  square 
of  the  distance  in  cosmic  lines,  —  we  shall  at  once 
see  that  the  centre-changes  must  eventually  tend  to 
gather  together  into  stable  groups,  the  spacing  of 
whose  members  in  cosmic  rows  would  be  numerically 
symmetrical.  If  the  spaces  between  the  members 
were  always  sufficiently  great,  both  an  indefinite 
freedom  of  motion  and  an  indefinite  degree  of  crowd- 
ing together  would  be  possible  to  the  groups  as  such. 
Since  both  these  privileges  would  imply  the  advan- 
tage to  any  group  of  benefiting  more  fully  from  the 
fields  of  other  groups,  we  may  conclude  that  those 
groups  would  eventually  persist  in  which  the  spaces 
between  members  were  very  great  and  numerically 
symmetrical. 

If  we  would  discover  other  determinants  of  the 


16G         TPIE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

persistence  of  stable  groups,  we  must  enquire  into  the 
implications  of  their  formation.  To  this  end,  let 
us  ask,  What  may  be  understood  by  a  stable  group  ? 
A  stable  group  must  clearly  be  a  league  of  centre- 
changes  separated  from  one  another  by  vast  dis- 
tances in  cosmic  lines,  and  preserving,  if  not  inter- 
fered with  from  without,  the  same  distances  from 
one  another.  This  means  that  at  the  moment  when 
the  group  was  finally  formed,  all  the  mutually 
attracted  centre- changes  ceased  to  move  in  cosmic 
lines.  For  the  reason  considered  in  connexion  with 
the  diagrams,  further  approach  in  cosmic  lines  would 
have  been  dangerous,  whilst  withdrawal  in  cosmic 
lines  would  have  meant  the  abandonment  of  the 
fullest  possible  benefit  from  one  another's  fields. 
At  this  point  an  obvious  advantage  lies  before  the 
centre- changes  in  that  motion  which  we  have 
termed  revolution  about  their  centres,  inasmuch  as, 
when  inaugurated,  it  means  that  the  centre-changes 
will  be  benefiting  more  variously  from  one  another's 
fields  than  before.  In  this  revolution  must  lie  an 
important  safeguard  against  overcrowding  of  centre- 
changes,  for  it  would  minimise  the  danger  of  too 
nearly  identifying  the  field  of  one  centre-change 
with  that  of  another.  The  average  velocity  of 
revolution  or  rotation  —  by  whichever  name  we 
may  choose  to  call  this  motion  of  which  no  pictorial 
image  may  be  formed  —  of  members  of  a  group  must, 
then,  be  highest  in  groups  in  which  the  members 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         167 

are  nearest  together.  We  shall  later  find  reason  to 
believe  that  in  time  all  stable  groups  would  come 
to  have  the  same  size,  —  i.e.  the  same  length  in 
cosmic  lines ;  we  may  therefore  conveniently  borrow 
the  term  "mass"  to  indicate  their  numerical 
strength  in  centre-changes.  It  is,  then,  obvious 
that  the  members  of  a  group  of  lesser  mass  would  be 
farther  apart  than  those  of  a  group  of  greater  mass. 
Hence  they  would  gain  the  greatest  advantage  from 
one  another's  fields  —  i.e.  the  same  advantage  that 
was  gained  in  the  heavier  group  —  if  their  average 
rotary  velocity  was  not  the  same  as  that  in  the 
heavier  group,  but  either  lower  or  higher  in  pro- 
portion to  the  difference  in  mass.  Since  it  may  be 
lower,  it  seems  likely  even  at  this  stage  of  our 
enquiry  that  lower  it  would  be  rather  than  higher ; 
and  this  probability  will  be  enforced  by  subsequent 
considerations.  If  by  M  we  represent  mass,  and  by 
V  the   average   rotary   velocity   of   members,   the 

quotient  of  —  would  probably  be  the  same  in  all 

stable  groups. 

It  is  important  to  observe  that  those  groups  would 
survive  the  longest  in  which  the  character  and 
velocity  of  revolution  of  each  of  their  members 
were  suited  with  the  greatest  exactness  to  the 
average  of  distance  between  it  and  the  other 
members  of  the  same  group.  By  the  character 
of  the  revolution  is  meant  the  particular  succession 


1G8         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

of  disruptions  and  reformations  of  lines  of  supply. 
Any  member  of  a  group  is  connected  with  a  near 
neighbour  by  all  those  lines  of  supply  by  which  it  is 
connected  with  a  more  distant  neighbour,  and  by 
many  other  lines  as  well.  Should  any  members 
ignore  the  obvious  advantage  to  be  gained  by  a 
precise  observance  of  the  rules  suggested  by  the 
migrants  arriving  along  these  various  and  manifold 
lines,  they  would  be  forfeiting  one  of  the  most  con- 
spicuous benefits  of  their  alliance,  and  the  conse- 
quences of  such  negligence  would  rapidly  accumulate 
with  the  lapse  of  time.  As  a  result  of  those  various 
and  intimate  relations  between  groups  which  we  are 
about  to  consider,  any  groups  whose  members  were 
not  rotating  in  such  manners  and  at  such  velocities 

that  each  one  of  them  presented  successively  its  — — 

different  aspects  to  the  cosmic  row  of  average  dis- 
tance within  its  group,  would  repeatedly  run  the 
risk  of  destruction.  Their  complete  extermination 
would  be  favoured  by  the  contemporaneous  ex- 
istence of  more  efficiently  organised  groups,  the 
variety  of  whose  mutual  relations  would  thereby  be 
enhanced.  Eventually  all  groups  of  conspicuously 
inferior  organisation  would  doubtless  cease  to  be 
formed. 

The  relative  degrees  of  mobility  eventually  to  be 
established  among  groups  of  different  mass  may  be 
ascertained  through  a  consideration  of  the  conse- 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         169 

quences  of  their  response  to  the  attraction  of  mi- 
grants. 

A  single  migrant,  as  we  have  already  seen,  may 
not  successfully  orientate  towards  its  centre-change 
more  than  one  cosmoid  of  any  given  row  of  free 
rovers;  for,  if  more  than  one  cosmoid  of  each  row 
sets  out  for  the  centre-change,  a  congestion  of  un- 
friendly cosmoids  will  eventually  be  produced  suf- 
ficient to  disrupt  the  centre-change  and  to  prevent 
the  formation  of  another  centre-change  in  the  same 
neighbourhood.  The  case  of  the  mutual  attraction 
of  centre-changes  themselves   must   inevitably  be 

2  U 

similar.     This  is  to  say,  if  fewer  than  —  migrants, 

or  their  equivalent  in  migrants  possessing  a  mani- 
fold attraction,  might  attract  one  centre-change  a 
distance  of  one  cosmoid  or  cosmic  row  towards 
another  centre-change,  the  life  of  centre-changes 
or  of  groups  of  them  would  be  impossible  in  the 
cosmon.  For  it  is  obvious  that,  if  centre-changes 
rushed  impetuously  to  any  region  of  the  cosmon 
where  the  advantage  to  be  gained  was  not  com- 
mensurate with  the  rapidity  of  their  approach, 
an  otherwise  moderate  and  beneficial  degree  of 
crowding  together  would  become  insupportable. 
In  time  it  must  come  to  be  an  attractive  force  equal 

2  U 
to  -=—  that  would  be  required  to  induce  any  centre- 
change  to  make  its  first  forward  move ;  and  a  force 


170        THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

equal  to  — - —  would  be  required  to  induce  a  group 

of  M  1000  to  make  its  first  forward  move. 

A  lighter  group  would  thus  have  greater  freedom 
of  motion  through  the  cosmon  than  a  heavier:  an 
advantage  which  would  react  beneficially  upon  all 
heavier  groups  with  which  it  had  relations.  Heavier 
groups  would  in  consequence  favour  the  persistence 
of  at  least  certain  classes  of  lighter  groups,  and 
lighter  groups  would  likewise  favour  the  persistence 
of  certain  heavier  groups,  since  a  heavier  group 
would  always  exploit  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
more  thoroughly  than  a  lighter,  whilst  a  lighter 
would  always  carry  with  it  the  refreshing  influence 
of  its  travels. 

To  gain  some  general  idea  of  the  different  classes 
of  groups  that  would  favour  one  another's  con- 
temporaneous existence,  we  should  first  recognise 
the  advantage  inherent  in  a  process  which  would 
seem  to  be  an  inevitable  consequence  of  the  forma- 
tion of  groups  and  which  we  may  term  the  associa- 
tion of  groups. 

Literal  contact  between  the  members  of  two 
groups  would  of  course  never  occur;  or,  if  it  did 
occur  in  early  kinemas,  would  result  in  the  dis- 
ruption of  both  groups,  —  an  event  which  would 
possess  no  potential  geometrical  significance  save 
in  the  example.  In  time  the  members  of  the  most 
nearly  contiguous  groups  would  doubtless  be  sepa- 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         171 

rated  by  distances  as  great  as  those  existing 
within  the  groups  themselves.  Now,  two  groups 
that  were  suffered  to  remain  thus  contiguous  for 
a  sufficient  period  would  gain  a  very  thorough 
experience  of  one  another's  organisation;  which 
experience,  as  it  approached  perfection,  must  result 
in  one  of  three  things:  (1)  separation,  (2)  dis- 
bandment  of  one  or  both  of  the  groups,  or  (3)  an 
exchange  of  one  or  more  of  their  component  mem- 
bers, the  two  groups  then  sharing  a  portion  of  the 
cosmon,  and  the  association  thus  formed  possessing 
a  new  advantage  of  longevity  over  the  former 
league  that  was  based  merely  upon  propinquity. 
It  is  to  be  observed  that  any  association  involving 
one  member  of  each  group  must  entail  an  advantage 
of  differentiation  in  the  relation  superior  to  that 
which  would  be  gained  by  the  retirement  of  one 
group  to  a  distance  from  its  former  position  equal 
to  the  distance  moved  in  the  act  of  association.  It 
would,  moreover,  be  a  new  kind  of  advantage  which 
involved  no  repetition  of  a  relation  already  experi- 
enced in  the  course  of  that  mutual  approach  which 
had  led  to  the  relation  of  contiguity. 

In  some  conceivable  cases  such  an  association 
would  doubtless  be  impossible  by  reason  of  the  re- 
lation borne  by  the  internal  organisation  —  i.e. 
the  spacing  and  rotary  velocities  of  members  — 
of  one  of  the  groups  to  that  of  the  other.  In  such 
cases,  all  other  things  being  equal,  the  group  whose 


172         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

unassociableness  with  reference  to  the  sum  of  other 
existing  groups  was  the  most  marked  would  de- 
cline in  stability,  and  in  time  its  kind  would  cease 
to  be  formed.  Contemporaneous  with  the  decline 
in  stability  of  this  variety  of  group  would  be  an 
increased  advantage  of  mutual  association  to  sur- 
viving groups  resulting  from  this  riddance  of  a 
stumbling-block  in  their  path. 

In  other  conceivable  cases  the  association  would 
be  so  readily  and  completely  feasible  that  the  two 
groups  might  occupy  all  but  the  same  portion  of 
the  cosmon.  At  need  one  of  the  groups  might  then 
emerge  on  the  other  side  —  from  its  own  point  of 
view  —  of  the  other  group.  The  lighter  group 
could  then  hardly  be  spoken  of  as  having  lost  all 
its  old  members  and  gained  new  ones,  since  centre- 
changes  are  in  themselves  geometrically  alike  and 
are,  under  all  circumstances,  continuously  renewed 
from  without.  The  net  result  of  these  two  succes- 
sive acts  of  association  and  dissociation  would  be 
that  two  groups  already  presumably  suited  to 
prevalent  cosmic  processes  were  preserved,  each 
with  increased  advantages. 

In  any  association  of  two  groups  the  average 
rotary  velocity  of  the  members  of  each  would  in- 
crease in  direct  ratio  with  the  square  of  the  close- 
ness of  the  association  in  cosmic  lines;  and  the 
character  of  the  revolution  of  each  member  would 
still  be  primarily  with  regard  to  its  own  group,  but 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE         173 

might  be  indefinitely  modified  by  the  exigencies  of 
the  association.  In  some,  perhaps  all,  associations 
the  members  of  both  groups  would  doubtless  move 
apart  and  close  up  again  in  rhythmical  vibrations 
similar  to  those  which  we  shall  presently  consider 
in  another  connexion. 

Close  associations  would  probably  be  less  common 
than  those  in  which  the  groups  shared  but  a  small 
portion  of  the  cosmon.  Disruption  of  a  close  as- 
sociation due  to  some  outside  influence  might  act 
with  explosive  force  upon  neighbouring  groups 
and  centre-changes. 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  the  advantage  inherent  in 
association  would  narrowly  restrict  the  admissible 
number  of  contemporaneous  varieties  of  groups. 
Different  sets  of  mutually  associable  groups  would 
doubtless  belong  to  different  epochs,  for  each  set 
must  in  time  exhaust  its  own  possibilities.  Re- 
curring to  our  diagrams  (Figs.  15,  16,  and  17) 
and  constructing  in  imagination  groups  of  different 
mass,  beginning  with  1000,  we  must  recognise  that 
this  lightest  group  (M 1000)  could  not  associate  with 
all  varieties  of  groups  from  M  1001, 1002,  1003,  etc., 
up  to  M  100,000,  but  would  probably  be  able  to 
associate  with  only  a  very  few  of  such  varieties 
within  these  limits  as  might  sufficiently  generally 
associate  with  one  another.  The  variety  having 
M  1001  might  find  a  different  set  more  congenial. 

No  variety  of  group  would  ever  possess  a  normal 


174         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

or  ideal  degree  of  stability;  for  it  would  no  sooner 
reach  the  highest  degree  of  relative  stability  than 
it  would  begin  to  decline  in  the  scale.  It  is  further- 
more probable  that  certain  individual  groups  of 
a  variety  that  was  rising  in  the  scale  of  relative 
stabilities  would,  under  certain  circumstances,  be 
forced  to  disband. 

Though  the  advantage  inherent  in  association 
would  further  favour  a  certain  diversity  in  the  mass 
of  groups,  it  could  hardly,  on  the  other  hand,  favour 
diversity  in  size,  —  i.e.  in  the  length  of  groups 
in  cosmic  lines,  —  for  the  advantage  of  the  associa- 
tion of  three  or  more  groups  would  probably  be 
greater  relatively  to  the  total  mass  involved,  if  all 
were  of  the  same  size,  than  if  one  of  them  was  con- 
siderably larger  or  smaller  than  the  others.  More- 
over, a  light  group  that  was  larger  than  other  groups 
of  its  time  would  doubtless  be  unable  to  keep  its 
members  in  their  places.  A  large  and  heavy  group, 
on  the  other  hand,  must  be  difficult  for  other  groups 
to  associate  with.  It  would,  then,  seem  probable 
that  in  any  given  age  all  groups,  whatever  their 
mass,  would  have  nearly,  if  not  quite,  the  same  size, 
and  that  any  general  variation  in  size  from  age  to 
age  would  be  an  extremely  slow  process.  Subse- 
quent considerations  will  greatly  emphasise  this 
probability. 

We  may  here  pause  to  observe  that,  if  our  stable 
groups  were   in   other  respects  equivalent   to  the 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         175 

atoms  of  matter,  we  should  say  that  all  varieties 
of  them  were  to  some  extent  radio-active;  their 
associations  we  should  call  molecules;  and  at  some 
epoch  of  the  cosmic  life,  measurable  perhaps  by 
thousands  of  successive  nebulae,  it  would  seem  not 
improbable  that  the  existent  varieties  should  be 
similar  in  number  and  in  character  to  the  so-called 
elements  of  our  experimental  knowledge. 

In  the  earliest  formations  of  groups  (it  will  be 
well  to  keep  Fig.  16  before  us)  if  the  spaces  be- 
tween members  were  sufficiently  great,  this  spacing 
might  be  widely  different  in  two  groups  of  the  same 
mass.  For  example,  in  a  certain  group  of  M  1000, 
a  certain  member  might  conceivably  remain  in  a 
position  distant  relatively  a  million  cosmic  rows 
from  the  position  occupied  by  the  corresponding 
member  of  a  neighbouring  or  distant  group  of  like 
mass.  Beyond  a  certain  point,  however,  such 
differences  could  not  exist.  And  if  D  (the  length 
of  a  cosmic  diameter)  was  sufficiently  great,  all 
groups  of  like  mass,  whether  formed  in  the  same 
neighbourhood  or  at  great  distances  from  one 
another,  would  be  subject  to  the  same  limitations 
of  spacing.  On  the  other  hand,  certain  other 
early  groups  might  conceivably  be  formed  in  which 
the  members  were  so  crowded  that  each  of  them 
would  occupy  the  only  cosmic  row  compatible  with 
the  continued  existence  of  the  group.  But  when 
we  contemplate  the  necessity  of  either  vibration  or 


176        THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

disruption  to  follow  upon  collisions  of  those  groups 
which,  though  mutually  attractive,  were  wholly 
or  partially  incapable  of  association  with  one  an- 
other, and  when  we  recognise  the  important  ulti- 
mate benefit  inherent  in  such  vibration  of  groups, 
we  shall  see  that  only  those  groups  might  persist 
whose  members  were  capable  of  yielding  suitably 
before  the  menacing  influence,  and  that  in  time  all 
groups  would  come  to  be  formed  in  such  a  way  that 
each  member  of  a  group  that  was  not  vibrating  would 
occupy  the  middle  point  of  its  admissible  path  of 
vibration.  All  groups  of  like  mass  and  like  size 
would  then  have  the  same  spacing  of  members. 

From  these  considerations  it  becomes  clear  that 
association  cannot  contain  the  whole  story  of  the 
motives  of  groups;  that,  though  a  certain  degree 
of  mutual  associableness  would  be  desirable  at 
any  epoch,  a  certain  degree  of  mutual  unassociable- 
ness  would  likewise,  and  quite  as  obviously,  be 
desirable. 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  significance  of  the 
vibration  of  stable  groups  and  of  the  consequent 
transmission  of  appropriate  impulses  along  the  lines 
of  supply  of  these  groups,  we  should  first  try  to  gain 
some  idea  of  the  attractive  force  resulting  in  those 
quasi-collisions  which  must  in  the  first  instance  set 
up  these  vibrations. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  attraction  of  one  stable 
group  for   another  must    be  very  different    in    its 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         177 

operation  from  the  attraction  of  one  unattached 
centre-change  for  another. 

Two  centre-changes  lying  within  one  another's 
fields  and  in  the  field  of  no  other  centre-change, 
and  not  revolving  about  their  centres,  would  ap- 
proach one  another  in  cosmic  lines  with  the  same 
velocity,  and  this  velocity  would  increase  in  inverse 
ratio  to  the  square  of  the  distance  between  them. 

If  a  heavier  group,  or  association  of  groups,  or 
league  of  associations,  lay  within  the  field  of  a  lighter 
group,  association,  or  league,  the  velocity  of  each 
body  in  approaching  the  other  would,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  unattached  centre-changes,  increase  in  in- 
verse ratio  to  the  square  of  the'  distance  between 
them. 

And  the  average  velocity  of  the  two  bodies  would 
at  any  time  be  as  the  total  mass  involved. 

But  the  heavier  body  would  have  a  lower  velocity 
than  the  lighter  in  proportion  to  its  total  numerical 
superiority  in  centre-changes  and  independently 
of  the  mass  of  the  groups  or  associations  of  which 
it  was  composed.     (Cf.  page  169.) 

Furthermore  the  lines  of  approach  of  the  two 
bodies  must  be  quite  different  from  the  lines  of 
approach  of  the  two  unattached  centre-changes. 
The  unattached  centre-changes  were  not  revolving 
about  their  centres;  so  they  attracted  one  another 
in  cosmic  lines.  In  the  case  of  two  groups  composed 
of  revolving  centre-changes,  it  would  seem  that  no 

N 


178        THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF   CHANGE 

inducement  might  be  offered  along  the  cosmic  lines 
connecting  the  groups,  no  matter  what  relation  to 
the  velocity  of  migrants  was  borne  by  the  rotary 
velocity  of  centre-changes.  Each  migrant  from  the 
revolving  centre-changes  of  either  group  has  been 
continuously  twisting  and  turning  about  in  the 
cosmon,  and  when  it  arrives  at  the  other  group, 
must  attract  it  away  from  any  cosmic  line  leading 
from  one  group  to  the  other.  The  following  mi- 
grants also  attract  it  away  from  these  cosmic  lines 
but  in  different  manners  according  to  the  succes- 
sively different  relative  positions  of  their  lines 
of  emergence  from  the  revolving  centre-changes. 
Eventually  a  migrant  arrives  which  attracts  it 
away  from  the  cosmic  lines  in  a  manner  opposite 
to  that  of  the  first  migrant;  and,  still  later,  one 
that  attracts  it  in  the  same  manner  as  that  of  the 
first  migrant.  But  all  these  migrants  have  not  alone 
a  twisting  and  turning  motion  in  the  cosmon;  they 
must  have  a  forward  motion  as  well,  else  they  would 
never  have  reached  another  group.  This  forward 
motion  of  migrants,  though  so  modified  as  to  be 
incapable  of  attracting  groups  or  centre-changes 
in  cosmic  lines,  must  nevertheless  cause  their  suc- 
cessive departures  from  cosmic  lines  to  bring  them 
into  cosmic  rows  always  nearer  to  the  source  of 
attraction. 

The  above  description  of  a  spiral  line  of  attraction 
may  seem  to   be  a   descriptive   retrogression  into 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         179 

the    more    superficially    symbolical.     And    doubt- 
less the  spiral  motion  of  our  symbolical  migrants 
would   consist   of   steps   forward   alternating   with 
steps  to  one  side.     Might  we,  then,  conceive  one 
migrant  as  attracting  a  revolving  centre-change  in 
cosmic  lines,  and  the  next  as  modifying  the  char- 
acter of  its  revolution  about  its  centre?    But  this 
conception  must   be   modified  when  we   recognise 
that  every  migrant,  whether  arriving  in  a  cosmic 
line  or  not,  would  probably  modify  the  character 
of  the   revolution  of   a   centre-change,   no   matter 
what  was  the  velocity  of  this  revolution,  by  virtue 
of  its*  interference  with  the  lines  of  supply  of  the 
centre-change  during  its  winding  passage  through 
the  cosmon.     Or,  for  every  migrant  that  had  failed 
so  to  interfere  with  a  line  of  supply,  there  would 
probably  be  one  that  had  at  least  twice  so  interfered. 
The  amount  of  this  mutual  interference  with  all 
lines  of  supply  would  obviously  vary  directly  with 
the  average  rotary  velocity  of  the  members  of  both 
groups,  since  upon  this  depends  the  degree  of  de- 
flection of  the  lines  of  migration  from  cosmic  lines. 
It  would  also  vary  inversely  with  the  square  of  the 
distance.     In  sum,   the  amount   of   mutual   inter- 
ference and  consequent  modification  of  the  character 
of  revolution  in  both  groups  would  vary  directly 
with  the  mass  of  each  and  inversely  with  the  square 
of  the  distance.     But  the  inducement  to  the  groups 
to  approach  one  another  varies  in  just  this  way; 


180         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

hence  the  "spiral"  line  of  attraction  would  always 
be  the  same  in  character,  whatever  the  mass,  or 
internal  motions  of  the  groups,  or  the  distance  be- 
tween them.  And  the  same  spiral  would  be  the 
line  of  all  simple  motions  of  groups  in  the  cosmon, 
for  all  simple  motions,  whether  resulting  from  an 
attractive  pull  or  an  explosive  push,  would  reveal 
the  dependence  of  the  degrees  of  forward  induce- 
ment and  of  lateral  deflexion  upon  the  same  con- 
ditions of  mass  and  distance.  All  complex  motions 
of  groups  would,  of  course,  be  the  resultants  of  two 
or  more  simple  motions.  Two  groups  would  thus 
come  more  quickly  and  directly  together  if  they 
were  left  to  themselves  than  if  one  of  them  was 
subjected  to  an  opposite  pull. 

In  order  to  gain  some  idea  of  the  character  of 
this  uniform  spiral  line  of  motion  of  groups,  we  must 
bear  in  mind  the  effect  upon  groups  of  the  forward 
inducement  of  migrants.     We  have  seen  that  the 

2  U  .... 

visit  of  — -  migrants,  or  of  their  equivalent  in  mi- 
grants possessing  a  manifold  attraction,  would  be 
required  to  induce  any  centre-change  to  make  its 
first  forward  move ;  and  that  an  attraction  equal  to 

would  be  required  to  induce,  a    group   of 

M  1000  to  make  its  first  forward  move.  During 
the  period  required  for  the  bringing  of  this  force  to 
bear  —  whether  this  period  be  a  single  kinema  or 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         181 

a  million  —  there  must  be  lateral  or  rotary  modi- 
fications of  the  group.  And  the  greater  the  for- 
ward inducing  force,  —  i.e.  the  greater  the  mass 
involved  and  the  less  the  distance,  —  the  more 
numerous  will  be  these  lateral  or  rotary  modifica- 
tions.    The  constant  ratio  between  the  two  depends, 

2  U 
of  course,  upon  the  quantity  — — ;    i.e.    upon   the 

number  of  cosmoids  in  a  cosmic  row,  the  number 

2  U 

of  cosmic  lines  connecting  the  two  groups.     If  — — ■ 

was  sufficiently  great  or  sufficiently  small,  —  if  it 
was  such  as  would  have  made  possible  a  system  of 
supply  adequate  to  the  maintenance  of  a  centre- 
change  in  the  first  place,  —  the  ratio  of  the  number 
of  forward  inducements  to  the  number  of  lateral 
modifications  would,  for  any  given  period  and  under 
any  circumstances,  equal  one.  This  would  mean 
that,  for  every  unit  of  distance  by  which  any  group 
approached  another  group  in  cosmic  lines,  it  would 

2U 
have  experienced  — ■  lateral  or  rotary  modifications. 

If  the  stable  group  or  its  rotating  member  be 
regarded  as  a  solid  mass,  irrespectively  of  its  chang- 
ing component  parts,  our  naming  of  its  line  of 
motion  a  " spiral"  is  doubtless  unsuitable,  since 
neither  the  group  nor  the  member  may  wind  in  and 
out  of  that  column  of  cosmic  rows  which  constitute 
the   cosmon.     But   ''spiral"   seems  not  so  bad  a 


182         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

name  for  any  particular  aspect  of  its  motion  —  for 
any  aspect,  however  limited,  however  extended, 
which  does  not  embrace  its  whole  and  exclude  any 
implication  of  its  parts.  Let  us  enquire  what  there 
is  in  such  motion  that  might  conceivably  affect  the 
sense  of  sight  of  a  seeing  and  thinking  being  who 
could  never  have  perceived  anything,  whether  in 
motion  or  at  rest  as  a  whole,  that  was  not  in  the 
first  place  in  continuous  motion  within  itself,  and 
the  motion  of  whose  parts  was  not  being  continu- 
ously modified  by  impulses  emanating  from  other 
internally  agitated  things;  who,  after  perceiving 
anything,  could  never  perceive  it  again  and  call 
it  the  same  thing  unless  it  had  in  the  interval  com- 
pletely changed  within  itself.  Such  a  being  am  I 
undoubtedly,  and  such  are  all  the  others  of  my  race. 
I  will  assume,  then,  —  without  attempting  to 
justify  the  assumption,  — that  the  two  bodies  under 
consideration  (the  heavier  and  the  lighter  league 
of  associations  of  stable  groups)  are  the  Earth  and 
a  tennis  ball.  I  am  standing  directly  between  the 
ball  and  the  centre  of  the  Earth,  watching  the  ball 
as  it  falls  through  the  air;  and  I  am  asking  myself 
two  questions: 

(1)  What  is  there  in  this  motion  of  a  league  of 
stable  groups  that  may  conceivably  be  giving  rise 
to  my  sense-impression  of  the  moment  ?  —  and 

(2)  How  does  this  motion  appear  to  me? 

To   the   first   question   there   are   three   possible 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         183 

answers,  the  acceptance  of  any  one  of  which  means 
the  rejection  of  the  other  two. 

(a)  That  which  is  giving  rise  to  my  sense-impres- 
sion of  the  moment  is  an  independently  rotating 
centre-change  or  succession  of  centre-changes  which, 
quite  apart  from  its  rotary  motion,  is  being  drawn 
towards  the  Earth  in  cosmic  lines  by  the  Earth's 
migrants.  This  answer  is  plainly  untrue  as  a 
whole  or  in  any  of  its  partial  implications,  for  the 
very  migrants  which  are  drawing  the  ball  to  the 
Earth  are  those  which  are  modifying  the  rotation 
of  its  centre-changes. 

(6)  The  cause  of  my  sense-impression  is  a  solid 
mass  of  cosmon,  whose  internal  changes  bear  no 
relation  to  my  sense  of  sight  and  which,  as  a  whole, 
is  advancing  towards  the  Earth  in  cosmic  lines  be- 
cause it  may  not  leave  that  column  of  cosmic  rows 
which  constitutes  the  universe.  But,  knowing  as 
I  do  that  the  motion  of  such  an  inert  thing  has 
never  been  the  occasion  of  any  earlier  sense-impres- 
sion of  mine,  it  would  be  the  height  of  folly  in  me 
to  suppose  that  the  conditions  of  vision  had  sud- 
denly changed.  And  unless  they  had  completely 
changed  I  could  not,  in  looking  down  these  cosmic 
lines,  perceive  more  than  the  advance  guard  of 
the  tennis  ball  which  might  at  any  moment,  so  far 
as  I  could  tell,  be  an  inch  or  a  yard  away  and  would 
perhaps  not  differ  from  the  advance  guard  of  the 
Earth  under  my  feet. 


184         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

(c)  What  gives  rise  to  my  sense-impression  of 
the  moment  must,  then,  so  far  as  the  character  of 
its  motion  is  concerned,  be  the  succession  of  changes 
of  position  of  the  imperishable  cosmoids  in  some 
of  the  centre-changes  of  the  tennis  ball:  which 
succession  of  changes,  when  regarded  in  any  aspect 
save  that  one  which  might  not  affect  my  sense  of 
sight,  is  advancing  towards  me  in  a  kind  of  spiral 

line,  -—  steps  being  taken  in  as  many  different  direc- 
tions away  from  the  most  direct  line  of  approach, 
to  every  single  step  taken  in  this  direct  or  cosmic 
line. 

The  answer  to  the  second  of  my  two  questions  — 
How  does  this  motion  appear  to  me  ?  —  is  obvious 
enough.  The  tennis  ball  appears  to  me  to  be  taking 
the  shortest  course  between  two  points. 

If  the  ball  was  thrown  down  to  me  from  a  tower, 
it  would  reach  me  in  less  time  than  if  allowed  to 
fall  of  its  own  weight,  but  the  character  of  its  line 
of  flight  would  be  precisely  the  same.  It  might 
reach  me  in  less  time  than  would  be  required  to 
bring  together  two  unattached,  unrevolving,  centre- 
changes  which  had  been  separated  by  the  same 
distance;  but  its  course,  in  so  far  as  it  might  be 
apprehended  by  any  sense  of  mine,  would  be  far 
longer. 

If,  in  being  thrown,  the  ball  was  made  to  spin 
round  on  an  axis,  it  might  indeed  reach  me,  but  its 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         185 

original  spiral  line  would  have  been  modified  many 
times  by  another  kind  of  force,  producing  motions 
in  the  same  kind  of  line.  It  would  therefore  appear 
to  me  to  be  taking  a  longer  course  than  the  shortest 
I  had  ever  observed. 

If  I  picked  up  a  crystal  from  the  ground,  I  should 
know,  then,  that  its  edges  appeared  to  me  straight 
because  I  had  never  observed  anything  that  was 
straighter ;  that  my  ability  to  see  these  edges  at  all 

2  U 

depended  upon  their  making  — -   departures  from 

cosmical  straightness  to  every  unit  of  persistence 
in  this  straightness. 

If,  in  sum,  the  Earth  and  the  tennis  ball  are 
leagues  of  stable  groups,  it  is  clear  that  " lines" 
of  any  kind  must  exist  only  in  partial  sense  per- 
ceptions, and  that  when  we  come  to  draw  them 
about  any  deeper  symbols  of  reality  we  are  likely 
to  get  into  difficulties.  Nevertheless,  the  apparent 
cosmical  transition  from  "lines  everywhere"  to 
"no  lines  at  all"  can  hardly  be  an  abrupt  one;  and 
we  may  soon  find  the  idea,  just  now  gained,  of  the 
conceivably  spiral  character  of  the  straight  line  to 
be  of  use  in  our  enquiry. 

In  connexion  with  the  mutual  attraction  of  groups, 
we  should  bear  always  in  mind  the  necessity  of 
regarding  them  from  a  geometrical,  not  an  ulti- 
mate, point  of  view.  Geometrical  position  is  con- 
ceived by  us  with  reference  to  some  apparently 


186         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

fixed  object  such  as  the  Earth,  which  is  not  percep- 
tibly moved  by  the  attraction  of  bodies  that  fall 
through  the  air  to  its  surface;  and  any  conception 
that  we  may  gain  of  the  motions  of  our  stable  groups 
must  be  similar  in  character.  We  must  remember 
that  a  stable  group  is,  from  its  own  point  of  view, 
the  limit  or  centre  of  its  universe,  although  from 
the  point  of  view  of  another  group  it  is  not  the  limit 
or  centre  of  the  universe,  but  may,  on  the  contrary, 
have  groups  both  in  front  of  it  and  behind  it.  In 
apprehending  any  given  motion  of  any  group  we 
must  take  the  point  of  view  of  the  group  or  league 
of  groups  from  which  is  proceeding  the  push  or  pull 
determining  this  motion.  The  pushing  or  pulling 
body  is,  in  respect  of  the  motion  in  question,  the 
limit  or  centre  of  the  universe ;  although,  in  respect 
of  any  motions  of  its  own  —  all  of  which  are  de- 
termined from  without  —  this  point  of  view  may 
not  be  taken.  In  respect  of  any  motions  that  it 
is  determining  it  is  thus  a  fixed  centre,  no  matter 
how  rapidly  it  may  be  moving  in  response  to  other 
pushes  or  pulls  in  respect  of  which  it  has  other 
bodies  both  in  front  of  it  and  behind  it. 

For  example,  if  there  are  four  groups  in  the  cosmon 
placed  as  at  (1)  in  Figure  16,  and  the  one  prepon- 
derating pull  comes  from  a,  all  the  other  groups 
will  steadily  approach  a's  limit  or  centre  of  the 
cosmon  in  space  1. 

But  if  there  are  two  preponderating  pulls  in  the 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         187 

cosmon,  one  from  b  governing  a's  motion,  and  the 
other  from  c  governing  d's  motion,  a's  point  of  view 
as  at  (1)  may  no  longer  be  taken  in  a  consideration 
of  either  incident.  From  6's  point  of  view  there  are 
groups  both  in  front  of  and  behind  a;  and  a  will 
move  away  from  c,  yet  towards  b.  If,  in  imagina- 
tion, I  try  to  identify  myself  with  a,  a  body  power- 
less to  produce  any  appreciable  effect  upon  any- 
thing in  the  cosmon,  I  find  that  this  point  of  view 
cannot  be  taken,  a  exists  only  from  6's  point  of 
view;  and  if  the  incident  is  to  have  any  meaning 
for  me,  I  must  transfer  myself  to  b.  When  a  has 
approached  sufficiently  near  to  b  to  cause  b  to  move, 
I  may  take  the  point  of  view  of  either  group  in  con- 
sidering the  motions  of  the  other;  but  I  may  never 
take  the  point  of  view  of  either  group  in  considering 
its  own  motions,  for  I  could  not  then  know  them 
to  be  motions. 

In  respect  of  all  the  pulls  in  the  cosmon,  a  is, 
however,  approaching  c  instead  of  receding  from  it ; 
and  this  influence  of  b's  will  figure  in  any  reciprocal 
influences  between  c  and  a. 

If,  again,  there  is  one  preponderating  pull  from  c 
which,  however,  fails  to  reach  a,  d  and  b  will  be 
drawn  towards  one  another,  towards  c,  yet  away 
from  a.  From  c's  point  of  view  they  are  as  near 
as  possible  to  one  another,  and  the  sum  of  their 
journeys  to  the  centre  of  the  cosmon  will  be  a  dis- 
tance of  seven.     Any  influence,  however,  that  one 


188        THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

of  them  may  incidentally  exert  upon  the  other  will 
in  the  beginning  be  exerted  at  a  distance  of  seven; 
and  at  any  later  stage  of  their  journeys  it  will  be 
exerted  at  a  distance  less  than  seven  by  twice  the 
distance  that  either  has  covered  in  its  approach  to  c. 

No  matter  how  many  groups  or  leagues  of  them 
were  in  the  cosmon,  we  must  regard  their  motions 
thus  from  successively  different  points  of  view; 
and  any  comprehensive  survey  of  mixed  motions 
may  not  be  compassed  by  a  mixture  of  points  of 
view,  but  only  by  an  alternation  of  wholly  different 
points  of  view  which,  if  sufficiently  rapid,  will  appear 
as  a  mixture. 

The  many  implications  of  the  mutual  attraction 
and  repulsion  of  stable  groups  remain  yet  to  be 
considered.  For  reasons  which  will  appear  in  the 
course  of  the  enquiry,  it  seems  best  to  undertake 
this  consideration  in  connexion  with  our  considera- 
tion of  the  vibration  of  groups.  And  before  entering 
upon  the  subject  of  vibration,  we  may  try  to  dis- 
cover how  a  non- vibrating  group  would  appear  to  an 
evolutionary  being  if  it  might  appear  to  him  at  all. 

To  this  end  I  will  place  myself  in  imagination  in 
the  cosmic  row  of  average  distance  within  a  group 
of  centre-changes  which  is  about  to  take  a  definite 
and  stable  form,  and  describe  some  of  the  things 
I  might  see  while  there.  I  do  not  mean  to  suggest 
that  I  might  actually  see  or  feel  a  centre-change; 
but  I  do  mean  that  I  might  gain  some  image,  more 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         189 

or  less  satisfactory,  of  the  organisation  of  a  group 
through  experiments  in  which  the  sole  factors  were 
my  senses  of  sight  and  touch,  supplemented  by  in- 
struments that  were  entirely  made  up  of  straight 
lines  and  curved  lines.  For  the  sake  of  brevity  I 
will  say  that,  under  certain  circumstances,  I  may 
actually  see  centre-changes.  Otherwise  I  possess  all 
the  faculties  and  limitations  of  a  human  being; 
and  I  am  placed  in  what  is  about  to  become  the 
cosmic  row  of  average  distance  within  a  stable  group. 

I  will  suppose  that  the  centre-changes  about  to  be 
banded  together  in  this  group  have  come  to  rest 
after  their  mutual  approach  in  cosmic  lines,  but 
have  not  yet  begun  to  rotate  within  themselves. 
It  is  clear,  then,  that  I,  being  human,  could  not 
see  them.  I  might  perhaps  see  the  cosmoids  of 
which  they  were  composed,  and  count  all  their 
individual  changes.  But  collectively  they  could 
be  nothing  to  me  so  long  as  collectively  they  did 
nothing. 

As  soon,  however,  as  the  centre-changes  begin  to 
rotate  within  themselves,  I  may  indeed  see  them. 
If  they  begin  at  once  to  rotate  in  the  manner  pecul- 
iarly suited  to  the  group,  I   may  from   my  row  of 

2  U 
average  distance  get  — —  glimpses  of  them  which 

might,  and  doubtless  would,  appear  to  me  to   be 

2  U 

continuous.    And  if  — —  was  sufficiently  great,    I 


190         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

might  go  on  looking  at  them  to  the  end  of  my  days 
without  danger  of  losing  any  of  them  from  sight. 

Since  the  group  is  not  supposed  to  be  vibrating, 
each  of  its  members  must  always  remain  at  the 
same  distance  from  me  in  both  cosmic  and  spiral 
lines;  for  we  have  seen  that  distance  in  spiral 
lines  varies  with  distance  in  cosmic  lines;  and  we 
have  seen  that  each  member  of  a  group  has  but 
one  position  with  reference  to  any  other  member 
or  cosmic  row  within  the  group.  But  we  have 
also  seen  that  to  every  unit  of  distance  in  cosmic 

2  U 
lines  there  are  ——  units  of  distance  in  spiral  lines, 

no  two  of  which  are  in  the  same  cosmic  line.  Hence 
any  member  of  my  group,  as  a,  bearing  a  fixed 
relation  to  me  in  cosmic  lines  must,  while  in  motion, 
appear  to  bear  a  constantly  changing  relation  to 
me  when  viewed  along  spiral  lines  —  the  only  lines 
along  which  any  motions  in  the  cosmon  might  be 
apprehended  by  me.     In  the  time  required  for  its 

2  U 

successive  changes,  a  will  appear  to  me  to  be 

successively  at  the  ends  of  ~jr  different  spiral  lines 

U 

of  equal  length.     For  there  must  be   —  different 

spiral  lines  in  the  cosmon;  and  any  point  in  any 
one  of  them  could  be  apprehended  only  in  the  appro- 
priate rotary  change  of  a  centre-change.  Since  a 
must  be  making  all  possible  rotary  changes  in  respect 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         191 

of  my  position,  —  i.e.  presenting  its  most  diverse 
possible  aspects  to  the  row  of  average  distance,  — 
it  will  appear  to  me  successively  as  the  point  at  a 
given  distance  from  me  in  all  possible  spiral  lines. 

All  possible  rotary  changes  are  — — ;  and  all  possible 

U 

spiral  lines  are  — - .     But,  though  the  rotation  within 

any  stable  group  must  be  the  same  in  character 
in  corresponding  members  in  the  opposite  halves 
of  the  group,  it  is  clear  that  each  member  must  at 
any  given  moment  reach  a  stage  of  its  rotation 
opposite  to  the  stage  reached  at  the  same  moment 
by  the  corresponding  member  on  the  other  side  of 
the  row  of  average  distance.  Otherwise,  —  it  being 
obvious  that  the  velocity  of  migrants  must  be  vastly 
higher  than  the  highest  possible  rotary  velocity  of 
centre-changes,  —  the  members  of  the  group  could 
not,  in  the  sums  of  their  rotations,  be  presenting 
to  the  average  row  their  most  diverse  possible 
aspects,  and  so  benefiting  to  the  fullest  extent  from 
one  another's  fields.  When  a  has  made  a  complete 
rotation  upon  itself,  it  will  appear  to  be  in  the  same 
position  as  when  it  first  became  visible.  In  sum, 
it  will  appear  to  me  to  have  passed  through  every 
point  in  the  surface  of  a  sphere  of  which  I  am  the 

centre,  and  my    — -   successive   straight    lines    of 

vision  the  radii. 

Other  members,  as  b  and  c,  might  appear  to  be 


192         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

travelling  at  different  velocities  and,  at  any  given 
moment,  in  different  planes,  if  their  rotary  velocities 
were  different,  and  if  the  successive  steps  in  their 
rotations  were  in  different  cosmic  lines. 

It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  ride  upon  one 
of  these  apparently  revolving  centre-changes,  but  if 
I  placed  myself  in  the  cosmic  row  next  to  one  of 
them,  it  would  still  appear  to  me  to  be  revolving 
about  the  row  I  had  left  and  preserving  a  uniform 
average  distance  from  its  fellow-members,  because 
there  would  be  between  me  and  it  from  1  to  2  U 
units  of  distance  in  straight  lines.  D 

If  my  group  becomes  associated  with  another 
group,  all  its  members  will  acquire  higher  velocities, 
and  at  any  given  moment  will  appear  to  be  travel- 
ling in  different  planes. 

The  members  of  another  group  than  my  own  will 
appear  to  me  to  be  in  continuous  motion,  though 
not  upon  the  surfaces  of  spheres  of  which  I  am  the 
centre.  The  members  of  my  own  group  are  rotating 
so  as  to  present  themselves  to  me,  in  my  row  of 
average  distance,  in  their  utmost  diversity  of  char- 
acter. This  utmost  diversity  in  a  member  that 
appears  to  me  to  be  moving  as  a  whole  consists,  as 
we  have  seen,  in  an  apparent  revolution  about  me  as 
a  centre.  In  another  group  whose  members  are 
rotating  with  regard  to  another  row  of  average 
distance,  not  my  own,  the  apparent  revolution  will 
be  less  diverse  from  my  point  of  view  and  will  vary 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         193 

in  character  according  to  the  successive  apparent 
planes  of  motion.  With  growing  experience  in 
watching  other  groups  I  should  come  to  divine 
approximately  the  locations  of  their  apparent  cen- 
tres or  rows  of  average  distance;  and  when  these 
groups  were  not  moving  as  a  whole,  their  centres, 
which  I  could  not  see,  would  appear  to  me  fixed, 
even  as  the  invisible  centre  of  my  own  group  ap- 
pears to  me  fixed  by  reason  of  its  being  determined 
by  the  constant  relations  of  members. 

A  league  of  groups  so  closely  packed  together,  and 
at  such  a  distance  from  me  that  I  could  not  dis- 
tinguish the  individual  apparent  motions  of  their 
members,  would,  for  the  same  reason,  appear  fixed, 
or  in  motion  in  a  straight  or  bent  line  as  the  case 
might  be. 

The  possible  significance  of  differences  in  the  veloc- 
ities in  cosmic  lines  of  migrants  from  groups  of  dif- 
ferent mass  will  not  be  considered  in  the  course 
of  this  investigation,  because  no  groups  could  be 
stable  in  which  the  highest  rotary  velocity  of  mem- 
bers was  not  vastly  lower  than  one  cosmoid  per 
kinema;  hence  the  forward  velocity  of  any  migrant 
must  be  vastly  higher  than  any  other  velocity 
with  which  we  shall  have  anything  to  do.  All 
migrants  from  the  same  group  would  have  the  same 
velocity,  for  they  would  have  passed  through  all  its 
centre-changes  (cf.  Figs.  15,  16,  17),  modified  their 
several  characters  of  rotation,  and  in  turn  suffered 


194         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

equal  degrees  of  modification  of  their  lines  of  mi- 
gration. The  significance  of  any  differences  in  their 
velocities  must  therefore  lie  beyond  the  scope  of 
this  investigation. 

Let  us  now  undertake  that  review  of  group-vi- 
brations in  which  we  were  at  the  outset  interrupted 
by  the  necessity  of  gaining  some  idea  of  the  attrac- 
tive force  which  must  result  in  collisions  competent 
to  set  them  up. 

In  the  first  place  it  is  important  to  recognise  that 
these  vibrations  must  be  extremely  slow  as  com- 
pared with  the  velocity  of  migrants.  Every  group 
in  the  cosmon  is  subject  to  many  conflicting  pulls 
and  pushes ;  the  preponderating  pull  or  push  repre- 
sents at  any  time  a  proportion  numerically  very 
small  of  the  migrants  from  the  pulling  or  pushing 
source;  and  to  find  the  consequent  effect  in  the 
velocity  of  approach  in  cosmic  lines  we  must,  as 
we  have  seen,  divide  the  total  inducement  of  attract- 

9  77 
ing  migrants  by  — ^ -.     By  the  flight  of  an  arrow  we 

may  represent  the  motion  of  migrants ;  by  a  creep- 
ing shadow  at  midday,  the  advance  in  cosmic  lines 
of  a  stable  group  at  the  utmost  possible  velocity. 

Figure  16  has  illustrated  the  necessity  that  any 
member  of  a  group  must  occupy  at  any  given  mo- 
ment as  many  positions  in  that  group  as  there  were 
other  members  of  the  group;  that  it  must  occupy 
as  many  different  positions  in  an  association  as  there 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         195 

were  other  centre-changes  in  the  association;  that 
it  must  occupy  as  many  different  positions  in  the 
cosmon  as  there  were  other  centre-changes  in  the 
cosmon ;  but  that  it  must  occupy  only  one  position 
in  respect  of  any  given  centre-change  or  cosmic 
row.  If  Figure  16  leaves  any  room  for  doubt, 
diagrams  similar  to  this  one  and  on  a  larger  scale 
will  make  it  clear  that,  no  matter  what  was  the  value 
of  D,  no  centre-change  could  be  the  member  of  more 
than  one  group  at  the  same  time. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  near  approach  of  groups,  at 
either  accelerated  or  retarded  velocities,  must  entail 
a  growing  menace  to  the  integrity  of  both  groups, 
whether  they  had  the  same  or  different  masses  and 
velocities  of  approach.  For  the  members  of  each 
group  are  rotating  with  regard  to  the  average  row 
of  their  own  group;  and  modifications  of  this  pri- 
mary rotation  beyond  a  certain  strength  must  dis- 
rupt the  group.  Even  if  they  at  once  recognised 
their  associative  possibilities,  —  as  they  would  do 
if  their  earlier  experience  of  such  associations  was 
sufficiently  large,  —  there  must  still  be  a  certain 
degree  of  menace  both  before  and  after  the  forma- 
tion of  the  association.  If  the  two  groups  were 
mutually  unassociable  and  came  together  at  a  suffi- 
ciently high  velocity,  they  would,  if  not  otherwise 
interfered  with,  rebound  from  one  another.  This 
mutual  repulsion  would  not  begin  at  so  early  a  stage 
of  the  collision  when  that  epoch  in  the  cosmic  life 


196         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

had  been  reached  in  which  a  repeated  and  universal 
experience  of  the  advantage  of  differentiation  in- 
herent in  the  vibration  of  groups  had  resulted  in  the 
survival  of  those  groups  alone  whose  members  hung 
mobile  in  the  middle  of  their  admissible  paths  of 
motion  within  the  groups.  If  the  stable  groups  of 
any  epoch  were  each  a  billion  cosmic  rows  in  length, 
each  member  of  a  group  of  M  1000  might  have  an 
admissible  path  of  nearly  a  million  cosmic  rows. 
We  should  remember  that  the  ratio  of  mass  to  size 
would,  on  the  other  hand,  be  limited  by  the  necessity 
that  members  of  a  stable  group  be  kept  in  the  same 
average  positions  in  the  group  without  risk  of  being 
attracted  forth  into  the  cosmon.  But  if  D  be  suffi- 
ciently great,  many  different  sets  of  groups  are  readily 
conceivable  which  would  remain  absolutely  impreg- 
nable to  one  another's  assaults  until  such  time  as  the 
systematic  exigencies  of  their  component  members 
should  impose  the  successive  disbandment  of  in- 
dividual groups  of  any  variety  or  of  entire  varieties 
of  groups  in  favour  of  new  varieties. 

Such  disbandment,  in  the  case  of  the  heavier 
groups  and  associations  of  groups  —  each  of  whose 
members  occupies  as  many  different  positions  in 
the  group  as  there  are  other  members  —  must  be 
a  somewhat  complicated  process.  In  some  cases 
the  centre-changes  might  leave  their  group  in  vari- 
ous manners  according  to  their  former  positions  in 
the  group.    Some  of  them  might  be  banded  together 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         197 

in  lighter  groups  that  were  more  or  less  markedly 
unsuited  to  the  prevalent  cosmic  activities  and  must 
therefore  in  time  be  subdivided  or  combined  with 
other  such  groups.  Other  members  of  the  original 
group  might  depart  singly  into  the  cosmon  at  a 
velocity  so  high  —  though,  as  compared  with  their 
migrants,  they  would  have  but  a  snail's  pace  — 
that  each  of  them  in  turn  must  be  accepted  as  a 
member  of  the  first  group  it  encountered,  whilst 
one  of  the  original  members  of  that  group  was 
driven  from  it  at  a  corresponding  velocity.  All 
the  different  consequences  of  the  disbandment  of  a 
group  must  be  productive  of  disturbances  similar, 
in  their  effect  upon  other  groups,  to  the  vibrations 
of  groups  arising  from  collisions. 

The  members  of  any  group,  upon  collision  with 
another  group,  must  move  towards  that  cosmic 
row  which  is  at  the  least  average  distance  from  them 
all,  the  group  being  in  consequence  reduced  in  length. 
This  motion  would  be  in  the  usual  spiral  line,  and 
its  velocity  in  cosmic  lines  would  be  very  low  as 
compared  with  that  of  migrants.  To  each  unit  of 
distance  moved  by  each  member  in  cosmic  lines, 
there  would  be  a  complete  rotary  modification  of 

27/ 

its  primary  rotation  of  value  —  in  units  of  distance. 

All  the  lines  of  supply  would  be  disturbed  by  this 
mutual  approach  of  members  just  as  they  had  been 
by  the  mutual  approach  of  the  two  groups ;  and  this 


198         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

disturbance  could  be  compensated  only  by  an  even- 
tual opposite  disturbance  in  the  form  of  a  general 
recession  of  the  members  from  the  cosmic  row  of 
average  distance  to  cosmic  rows  as  distant  respec- 
tively from  their  normal  positions  in  the  group  as 
these  normal  positions  were  from  the  most  central 
positions  that  had  been  reached.  If  the  original 
disturbing  cause  was  removed,  this  compensation 
would  be  at  once  effected,  and  a  series  of  opposite 
and  compensative  motions  would  follow,  diminishing 
in  extent  as  the  inertia  of  the  group  permitted  its 
regaining  that  form  in  which  consisted  its  highest 
intrinsic  stability. 
The  net  results  of  the  collision  would  have  been 

2  U 
the  spirally  linear  vibration  of  the  two  groups,  — 

side  motions  to  1  forward ;  the  similar  spirally  linear 
modification  of  all  their  lines  of  supply;  and  the 
consequent  spirally  linear  vibration  of  all  other 
groups  reached  by  these  lines  of  supply. 

The  amplitude  of  the  original  vibrations  would  be 
as  the  intensity  of  the  force  setting  them  up  —  i.e. 
as  the  mass  of  the  groups  into  their  velocity  in  cosmic 
lines  —  and  inversely  as  the  mass  of  the  groups. 
The  amplitude  of  the  responsive  vibrations  in  other 
groups  would  be  as  the  mass  into  the  amplitude  of 
vibration  of  the  originally  vibrating  groups,  and 
inversely  as  their  own  mass  and  the  square  of  the 
distance. 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         199 

In  any  groups  the  vibratory  rates  would  vary  with 
their  mass,  but  would  probably,  in  the  case  of  vibra- 
tion proceeding  from  a  single  cause,  be  independent 
of  the  amplitude  of  vibration ;  because,  if  the  mem- 
bers travelled  far  inward  on  their  paths,  they  would 
repel  one  another  the  more  forcibly  and  would 
acquire  a  proportionally  higher  velocity.  The  high- 
est velocity  of  vibration  must,  as  we  have  seen,  be 
very  low  as  compared  with  the  velocity  of  migrants. 
A  vibratory  wave  travelling  through  the  cosmon 
might,  then,  be  conceived  as  a  series  of  a  thousand 
modifications  of  the  lines  of  supply,  between  every 
two  of  which  modifications  was  a  length  of  billions 
of  cosmoids  of  unmodified  line. 

These  modifications  must  all  have  been  subject 
to  the  primary  rotations  of  the  centre-changes. 
That  is  to  say,  though  they  could  never  be  lost  nor 
diminished  in  intensity,  their  passage  through  each 
centre-change  must  have  been  delayed  or  accelerated 
according  to  the  successive  primary  rotary  velocities 
of  these  centre-changes.  And  Figure  16  shows  us 
that  every  linear  modification  proceeding  from  a 
group  must  pass  through  each  of  its  members. 
For  the  motion  of  any  member  in  its  vibratory 
path  must  be  regarded  not  from  its  own  point  of 
view,  but  from  the  point  of  view  of  those  other 
members  which  are  disturbing  its  lines  of  supply. 
From  the  successive  points  of  view  of  all  members 
of  the  group  —  i.e.  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 


200        THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

group  as  a  whole  —  each  member  must,  then,  receive 
the  vibratory  impulse  from  every  other  member, 
modify  its  velocity  and  character,  and  suffer  modi- 
fication by  it  in  return.  The  wave  proceeding  from 
the  group  as  a  whole  would  be  the  resultant  of  all 
the  several  modifications  of  lines  of  supply  by  its 
members.  Since  the  vibratory  rate  of  the  group  is 
independent  of  its  amplitude  of  vibration,  the  wave- 
length would  always  be  the  same;  but  the  wave 
strength  —  i.e.  the  total  number  of  modifications 
within  a  given  lateral  distance  —  would  vary  with 
the  mass  and  with  the  amplitude  of  vibration. 

Since  both  the  primary  rotary  velocity  and  the 
vibratory  velocity  of  members  vary  with  the  mass 
of  the  group,  the  velocity  of  the  waves  in  the  cosmon 
must  be  the  same  whether  emanating  from  a  heavier 
or  a  lighter  group.  That  the  waves  would  always 
have  the  same  velocity  when  emanating  from  a 
group  having  successively  different  amplitudes  and 
consequently  different  velocities  of  vibration,  will 
appear  from  the  following  consideration  of  a  certain 
condition  of  vibration  in  groups. 

The  members  of  a  stable  group,  in  slowly  closing 
up  towards  the  row  of  average  distance,  must  con- 
tinuously increase  their  primary  rotary  velocities 
with  the  squares  of  the  distances ;  else  the  peculiar 
organisation  of  the  group  could  not  be  preserved, 
and  the  group  must  cease  to  exist  as  such.  The 
compensating   elongation   of  the   group   would   be 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         201 

accompanied  by  a  corresponding  decrease  in  rotary 
velocities.  During  the  last  half  of  the  outward 
journey  of  a  member,  both  the  linear  and  the  pri- 
mary rotary  velocity  would  be  approaching  the 
minimum.  During  the  first  half  of  the  inward 
journey  both  velocities  would  increase.  During 
the  last  half  of  the  inward  journey  the  linear  velocity 
would  again  be  approaching  the  minimum,  but  the 
rotary  velocity  would  be  approaching  the  maximum. 
During  the  first  half  of  the  outward  journey  linear 
velocity  would  increase  and  rotary  velocity  diminish. 
Since  the  rate  of  increase  and  decrease  of  both 
velocities  varies  with  the  mass  of  the  group,  the 
ratio  between  the  two  average  velocities  in  any 
complete  vibration  would  always  be  the  same  in 
any  group  independently  of  the  amplitude  of  vibra- 
tion. And  each  wave  of  modifications,  as  a  whole, 
would  then  preserve  the  same  velocity. 

In  considering  the  effect  upon  groups  of  the  passage 
of  the  modifying  waves  through  the  cosmon,  we 
must  bear  in  mind  the  spiral  character  of  these  waves 
and  of  the  vibrations  that  give  rise  to  them.  Unlike 
the  long  spiral  lines  of  supply  of  rotating  centre- 
changes,  these  waves  or  series  of  modifications  of 
the  lines  of  supply  travel  in  spirals  consisting  each 

2  U 
of  — — -  lateral  movements  to  1  forward  movement. 

It  would  seem,  then,  that  each  modification  of  any 


202         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

line  of  supply  must,  in  consequence,  upon  reaching 
any  group,  cause  a  corresponding  modification  of 
the  character  of  rotation  of  every  member  of  this 
group  and  then  pass  on  into  the  cosmon  beyond, 
with  an  undiminished  power  of  exerting  a  similar 
influence  upon  any  other  groups  that  did  not  lie 
beyond  the  end  of  the  line  of  supply.  Such  modi- 
fications would,  then,  set  up  in  any  group  a  spirally * 
linear  vibration  which  would  contain  no  possible 
implications  of  a  perilous  congestion  of  groups.  Or 
if,  for  any  reason,  the  waves  might  not  alter  the 
relative  positions  of  members  in  cosmic  lines,  they 
would  still  alter  their  rotary  positions. 

But  certain  considerations  make  it  evident  that 
not  all  groups  would  be  in  a  position  to  respond  to 
the  vibratory  inducement  emanating  from  any  given 
group  and  passing  through  a  second  group. 

At  (1)  in  Figure  16,  let  b  and  c  be  vibrating  groups 
and  let  a  be  an  unallied  centre-change.  Let  us  en- 
quire in  what  ways  a  may  respond  to  the  vibratory 
inducements  emanating  from  c. 

Whatever  the  mass  and  vibratory  amplitude  of  b 
or  c,  a  may,  under  certain  circumstances,  receive 
simultaneously  certain  waves  belonging  peculiarly 
to  b  and  certain  other  waves  which  belong  peculiarly 
to  c,  but  which,  on  their  journey  to  a,  have  modified 


1  By  spiral  will  always  be  understood  henceforth  the  spiral  of 

2  U 

ratio  1 :    '—r-,  which  is  the  line  of  motion  of  everything  in  the 

cosmon  save  the  individual  cosmoids  themselves. 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE  203 

the  vibratory  character  of  b  and  proceeded  on  their 
way  with  their  modifying  power  undiminished  save 
with  the  square  of  the  distance  in  cosmic  lines. 

But  if  one  of  c's  waves  —  i.e.  one  set  of  vibratory 
modifications  —  coincides  with  one  of  &'s  waves  at 
the  moment  of  its  arrival  at  a,  a  will  undoubtedly 
lose  the  vibratory  inducement  from  either  b  or  c. 
This  coincidence  could  not  amount  to  a  reduplica- 
tion similar  to  the  twofold  inducement  of  attractive 
migrants  each  of  which  visits  but  one  change  in  a 
centre-change  and,  if  possessing  a  manifold  induce- 
ment, must  exert  it  variously  upon  the  visited  and 
adjacent  changes  according  to  their  various  relations 
to  the  attractive  influence.  A  vibratory  wave, 
on  the  other  hand,  travelling  in  spiral  lines,  implies 
a  succession  of  modifications  of  every  change  in  every 
centre-change  through  which  it  passes.  There  would 
be  room  in  any  centre-change  for  an  indefinite  num- 
ber of  such  waves  of  the  same  or  different  strength 
at  the  same  time;  but  the  complete  coincidence  of 
any  two  waves  of  like  strength  could  have  but  a 
single  effect,  since  in  visiting  together  all  portions 
of  the  centre-change,  they  must  offer  the  same  in- 
ducement to  any  given  change.  Similarly,  the  coin- 
cidence of  one  wave  with  a  portion  of  another  wave 
would  mean  that  the  effect  of  the  weaker  wave  was 
lost. 

This  coincidence  of  the  waves  from  b  and  c  will 
take  place  in  a  if  b  occupies  the  same  rotary  position 


204         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

relatively  to  a  certain  future  position  of  a's,  as  is 
represented  by  the  modifications  which  b  is  receiving 
from  c.  In  other  words,  if  c  was  undergoing  pre- 
cisely the  same  set  of  rotary  changes  relatively  to 
the  future  set  of  rotary  changes  in  a  at  the  moment 
of  emanation  of  the  wave  as  is  b  at  the  moment  of 
receiving  it,  the  weaker  vibratory  wave  will  at  a 
be  merged  in  the  stronger;  and  a's  response  will  be 
as  to  b  alone,  if  6's  wave  is  the  stronger,  containing 
all  of  c's  wave  and  other  modifications  besides. 

If  the  waves  from  b  and  c  do  not  reach  a  at  the 
appropriate  moment,  they  will  not  coincide ;  for  it 
is  with  reference  to  the  rotary  changes  in  a  that 
b  and  c  may  occupy  the  same  or  different  positions 
in  respect  of  a  in  addition  to  their  difference  in 
distance  in  cosmic  lines.  All  modifications  in  these 
two  waves  have  been  approaching  a  in  spirals  the 

2  U 
same  in  character  (1 :  — — - )  though  inevitably  differ- 
ent, so  far  as  a  is  concerned,  in  the  particular  succes- 
sion of  lines  of  supply  affected  in  all  but  one  of 

2  U 
any  — —  successive  cosmic  rows  through  which  they 

may  pass.  For  every  cosmic  row  —  consisting,  as  it 
does,  of  portions  of  cosmic  lines  —  is  by  assumption 
different  from  every  other  cosmic  row  in  respect  of 
any  centre-change  or  group  in  the  cosmon.  And 
the  difference  between  any  given  row  and  an  ad- 
jacent row  is  less  than  between  the  given  row  and 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         205 

a  row  next  but  one  to  it.  Hence  any  simple  spiral 
line  in  the  cosmon  involves,  in  its  passage  through 
successive  cosmic  rows,  successively  the  least  possible 
differences  in  adjacencies  of  cosmoids.     Since,   at 

2  U 
the  end  of  — —  such  departures  from  its  original  char- 
acter, it  must  return  upon  itself,  it  follows  that  the 

2  U 

cosmon  consists  of  — —  cosmic  rows,  and  contains 

U  •  • 

—  different  simple  spiral  lines,  each  line   having 

two  opposite  directions  corresponding  to  the  oppo- 
sition between  the  two  cosmoids  constituting  any 
change. 

Now,  any  two  waves  from  b  and  c  respectively 
have  originated  in  two  different  portions  of  the 
cosmon ;  and,  so  far  as  a  is  concerned,  they  consist 
in  successive  modifications  of  a's  lines  of  supply 
always,  be  it  remembered,  by  migrants  travelling 

2U 

in  long  spirals  (not  1 :    — -  ).    Their  presence  in  a 

is  best  conceived  —  as  described  above  —  as  spiral 

2  U 
waves  (1 :  -=r-)  visiting  every  change  in  a,  and  their 

influence  upon  a  must  inevitably  correspond  to  this 
conception.  But  their  coincidence  or  divergence 
in  a  obviously  depends  upon  the  particular  winding 
course  that  a's  lines  of  supply  may  be  following  in 
the  cosmon ;  i.e.  it  depends  upon  the  primary  rotary 
character  of  a.     If  a  has  at  all  times  any  given 


20G         THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

rotary  character,  there  is  but  one  row  in  the  cosmon 
in  which  a  may  lose  the  vibratory  inducement  from 
c.  Conversely,  if  a  occupies  at  all  times  a  given  cos- 
mic row,  it  may  lose  c's  inducement  only  provided 
it  have  the  appropriate  rotary  character.  If  it 
lost  it  while  occupying  space  1,  —  at  (1),  Figure  16, 

—  it  could  not  lose  it  while  occupying  the  same 
rotary  position  in  space  2,  although  it  would  lose  it 
while  in  space  2,  if  occupying  the  appropriate  rotary 
position. 

Immediately  upon  leaving  a  (in  space  1)  the  joint 
wave  will  be  split  up  into  the  c  elements  and  the  b 
elements  for  the  benefit  of  any  imaginary  centre- 
change  adjacent  to  a  and  bearing  the  same  rotary 
relation  to  b  and  c  as  was  borne  by  a  upon  the  arrival 
of  the  wave  at  a.  Such  a  centre-change  would 
respond  to  both  waves,  and  the  character  of  its 
response  would  be  suited  to  its  position  just  one  row 
removed  from  the  dead  row  occupied  by  a.  It 
would  also  respond  to  any  imaginary  wave  from  a. 
Similar  centre-changes  situated  at  distances  of  two, 
three,  four,  etc.,  rows  from  a  would  respond  to  all 
three  waves,  according  to  their  positions  in  cosmic 
rows. 

Now  if  a,  instead  of  being  an  unallied  centre- 
change,  is  a  member  of  a  vibrating  group;  and  if 
the  spiral  line  of  a's  vibratory  path  is  that  one  of  the 

—  possible  spirals  which  ensures  its  having  the  ap- 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE         207 

propriate  rotary  position  relatively  to  b  in  each  suc- 
cessive row  occupied  along  this  path,  it  will  continue 
throughout  the  vibration  of  its  group  to  be  dead  to 
c's  influence,  no  matter  what  may  be  the  velocity 
of  this  vibration.  And  a's  vibratory  path  would 
indeed  be  this  particular  one  if  a's  and  o's  posi- 
tions in  the  cosmon  had  been  determined  solely 
by  c,  —  if,  that  is,  they  had  been  brought  into  these 
positions  by  the  attraction  or  repulsion  of  c's  mi- 

2  U 
grants,  -j—  side  motions  to  1  forward.     If,  now,  by 

a  we  represent  the  whole  group  instead  of  a  single 
member,  it  is  obvious  that  under  the  assumed 
conditions  —  i.e.  the  establishment  in  the  first  place 
of  a's  and  o's  rotary  positions  by  c  —  complete  coin- 
cidence of  the  b  and  c  waves  will  continue  through- 
out the  group  a,  no  matter  what  may  be  the  distance 
between  the  three  groups.  And  the  velocity  of 
these  waves  will  not  be  modified  by  their  passage 
through  a,  since  it  is  the  same  as  a's  vibratory  rotary 
velocity.     (Cf.  page  200.) 

So  long  as  a  and  b  remained  at  the  same  distances 
from  c,  the  successive  waves  from  c  would  maintain 
constant  amplitudes  of  vibration  in  a  and  b  which 
would  be  increased  or  diminished  only  upon  a  corre- 
sponding increase  or  diminution  in  c's  amplitude 
of  vibration,  or  upon  motion  of  one  of  the  groups  as 
a  whole,  or  upon  the  intervention  of  some  outside 
influence. 


208         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

If  a  and  b  began  to  move  towards  c,  the  successive 
disruptions  and  reformations  of  lines  of  supply 
would  be  the  same  in  a  as  in  b,  for  they  would  in 
each  case  be  governed  by  c's  migrants  whose  lines 
were,  in  turn,  determined  by  the  character  of  c's 
complete  rotation.  More  migrants  and  more  vi- 
bratory modifications  from  c  would  reach  b  than 
would  reach  a ;  and,  in  the  case  of  a,  vibratory  modi- 
fications would  be  missing  in  the  same  lines  of  supply 
in  which  migrants  were  missing,  b  would  travel 
more  rapidly  than  a  and  would  have  a  greater  am- 
plitude of  vibration;  but,  inasmuch  as  neither  of 
them  could  ever  move  forward  into  a  new  cosmic 

2  U 
row  without  having  suffered  — —  lateral  attractive 

modifications  at  the  hands  of  c's  migrants,  each 
advance  of  theirs  in  cosmic  rows  would  be  deter- 
mined by  the  complete  rotary  character  of  c.  During 
their  entire  journey,  therefore,  every  vibratory  wave 
from  c  would,  upon  reaching  a,  be  merged  in  the 
presumably  stronger  wave  from  b. 

If  b's  vibration  had  originally  been  set  up  by  some 
larger  and  more  distant  body  than  c,  as  d,  occupying 
a  like  rotary  position,  a  would  be  responding  in- 
directly to  c's  influence  as  transmitted  by  b.  But 
all  other  things  equal,  —  and  we  shall  later  consider 
some  of  the  other  factors  in  such  situations,  —  a's 
amplitude  of  vibration  must  be  less  than  if  a  and  b 
were   occupying  different   rotary  positions,   and  a 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         209 

was  in  consequence  responding  to  both  direct  and 
transmitted  waves  from  c.  The  process  of  trans- 
mission of  waves  would  obviously  be  slower  in  pro- 
portion to  the  number  of  groups  by  which  they  were 
successively  transmitted;  for  the  inertia  of  centre- 
changes  would  prevent  any  group  from  attaining 
at  once  to  its  maximum  amplitude  of  vibration  in 
response  to  any  given  vibratory  influence. 

We  have  now  to  consider  the  effects  upon  a  stable 
group  or  league  of  groups  of  a  mixed  attractive 
inducement,  —  i.e.  of  the  conflicting  inducements 
proceeding  from  two  or  more  bodies  having  different 
rotary  positions. 

Differences  in  rotary  position  are  inevitable  in  the 
symbolical  cosmon,  and  their  origin  lies  in  the  con- 
ditions under  which  stable  groups  are  formed,  —  i.e. 
in  the  differences  in  mass  and  the  implied  differences 
in  character  of  primary  rotation.  The  consequent 
differences  in  induced  rotation  would,  of  course,  be 
cumulative ;  and,  to  find  the  rotary  position  of  a  group 
at  any  time,  one  must  know  the  history  of  all  the  in- 
fluences to  which  it  has  ever  been  subjected.  We 
have  already  seen  that  the  history  of  positions  of  a 
lighter  group  would  be  longer  than  that  of  a  heavier. 

In  Figure  16,  let  d  have  a  different  rotary  position 
from  c's,  and  let  b  be  subject  to  both  their  attractive 
influences,  b  will  then  have  acquired  a  new  rotary 
position;  and  there  will  no  longer  be  a  complete 
merging  at  a  of  c's  vibratory  wave  in  b's. 


210         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

Leaving  a  henceforth  out  of  account,  we  shall  see 
that  if  b  approaches  c  and  d,  all  the  migrants  attract- 
ing it,  though  increasing  in  number,  will  steadily 
lose  more  and  more  of  their  attractive  power  since 
each  migrant,  though  attracting  b  forward  in  cosmic 
lines,  is  at  the  same  time  attracting  it  in  a  spiral 
that  is  peculiar  to  either  c  or  d.  The  c  elements 
will  always  be  at  war  with  the  d  elements ;  b's  motion 
will  be  ever  slower  in  proportion  to  the  number  of 
migrants  reaching  it,  —  i.e.  more  migrants  will 
be  required  to  produce  a  given  advance  in  cosmic 
lines  or  change  of  rotary  position;  and  the  spiral 
line  of  b's  motion  will  be  the  resultant  of  the  two 
influences. 

If  the  two  influences  are  always  equal  —  we  shall 
see  presently  how  this  would  be  possible  —  in  mi- 
gratory strength  at  b,  neither  may  cause  b  to  swerve 
farther  and  farther  from  the  other's  simple  spiral. 
b's  line  of  motion  will  then  be  a  simple  spiral  line 
intermediate  between  the  other  two. 

Moreover,  the  c  and  d  influences  being  always 
equal,  b  may  never  arrive  either  at  c  or  at  d.  Nor 
may  it  approach  beyond  a  certain  point  without 
being  rent  in  twain.  If  it  is  a  sufficiently  stable 
group,  or  league  of  groups,  successfully  to  resist  this 
disruptive  tendency,  it  would  seem  that  it  must  come 
to  rest  at  that  point  where  the  migrants  from  c  and 
d  were  present  in  sufficient  force  to  prevent  any 
further  advance  towards  either  body.     But,  under 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE         211 

certain  circumstances,  such  a  sudden  stoppage  of 
6's  progress  would  create  in  b  a  disruptive  tendency 
quite  as  great  as  was  created  by  the  conflict  between 
c's  and  d's  migrants;    for  it  would  require  that  all 

2  U 
of  6's  lines  of  supply  (in  number  -— -  taken  as  many 

times  as  there  were  centre-changes  in  b)  should 
immediately  undergo  a  change  far  more  radical  than 
any  that  was  imposed  during  its  accelerated  or  re- 
tarded approach.  That  is  to  say,  the  period  during 
which  all  the  centre-changes  composing  b  would  re- 
main disrupted  awaiting  material  suitably  placed 
for  reformation  would  be  far  longer  than  it  had  been 
at  any  stage  of  acceleration  or  retardation.  And 
if  this  period  of  disruption  was  sufficiently  prolonged, 
it  is  obvious  that  the  gathering  material  for  centre- 
changes  must  be  split  up  into  two  classes  in  one  of 
which  c's  influence  would  prevail  over  d's,  whilst 
in  the  other  d's  would  prevail  over  c's. 

We  may  surmise  that  at  an  early  stage  of  cosmic 
experience  such  a  group  or  league  of  groups  as  b 
would,  under  these  circumstances,  be  disrupted. 
But  stability  of  a  group  or  league  of  groups  consti- 
tutes, as  we  have  seen,  a  universal  advantage. 
Hence  groups  and  certain  leagues  of  them  would 
doubtless  come  in  time  to  invalidate  this  disruptive 
menace  in  the  same  manner  as  in  their  associations 
and  internal  vibrations:  to  wit,  through  a  com- 
pensating modification  of  the  primary  rotation  of 


212         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

the  group  or  of  the  secundo-primary  rotation  of  the 
league.  For,  once  the  field  of  a  centre-change  is 
established,  there  must  always  be  an  abundance  of 
material  at  hand  for  its  renewal,  if  the  superiority 
in  velocity  of  migrants  over  the  highest  possible 
velocity  of  the  centre-change  in  rotation  or  in  spiral 
motion  is  as  great  as  we  must  believe  it  to  be.  The 
menace  contained  in  the  situation  described  above 
lies  not  in  the  lack  of  material,  but  in  the  sudden 
and  radical  rearrangement  of  this  material  at  its 
border.  A  displaced  cosmoid  arriving  from  a  dis- 
tance of  —  cosmoids  might  not  enter  the  centre- 
change  by  a  line  of  supply  only  two  cosmoids  long 
or  by  a  line  which  would  bring  it  into  a  familiar 
adjacency  to  a  familiar  cosmoid  without  creating 

2  U 
a  menace  to  the  system  of  supply  of  value  2  over  -— . 

But  all  lines  of  supply  are  mutually  though  differently 
adjacent.  Hence,  if  b's  members  continued  to  rotate 
in  part  as  if  they  were  still  advancing  in  the  inter- 
mediate simple  spiral  at  a  velocity  retarded  suffi- 
ciently gradually;  if,  that  is,  they  continued  so  to 
rotate  in  all  respects  save  of  those  lines  of  supply 
connecting  b  with  c  and  d,  —  which  lines  must,  in  any 
conceivable  instance,  be  exceedingly  few  in  number 
as  compared  with  the  total  number  of  lines  of  supply ; 
and  if,  in  respect  of  these  lines  of  c's  and  d's,  they 
continued  to  rotate  in  that  manner,  unvarying  as 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE  213 

to  position  and  velocity,  prescribed  by  the  conflict 
between  c  and  d,  —  b  would  avert  its  own  disruption, 
provided  the  conflicting  inducements  from  c  and  d 
did  not  exceed  a  certain  strength. 

A  rotary  vibration  would  thus  be  set  up  in  b  along 
the  intermediate  simple  spiral  line;  and  the  length 
of  its  path  in  lateral  distance,  the  period  during  which 
it  would  continue,  and  the  rate  of  shortening  of  the 
path  would  depend  upon  the  distance  and  mass 
involved  and  upon  certain  other  features  of  the  sit- 
uation which  need  not  here  be  considered.  Through- 
out this  vibration  b  would  occupy  the  same  position 
in  cosmic  rows,  and  the  attractive  inducements  of 
both  c  and  d  would  remain  constant.  But  at  suc- 
cessive stages  of  the  vibration  any  influences,  at- 
tractive or  vibratory,  exerted  by  bodies  other  than 
c  and  d  would  have  successively  different  strengths 
in  b.  The  number  of  migrants  received  by  b  from 
any  fixed  body  whatsoever  would  remain  constant, 
but  successive  migrants  would  find  b  occupying  suc- 
cessively different  rotary  positions,  redundant  in  the 
sum,  for  responding  to  and  for  neutralising  their 
influence  —  with  this  exception :  that  they  would 
always  find  the  opposition  of  c's  and  d's  migrants  the 
same.  Vibratory  waves  travelling  in  spiral  lines, 
whether  from  c  or  d  or  any  other  body,  would  en- 
counter similar  differences  in  b;  and  b's  amplitude 
of  vibration  in  response  to  such  waves  and  its  op- 
portunities of  eliminating  waves  through  coincidence 


214         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

would  vary  precisely  as  if  it  was  travelling  up  and 
down  a  simple  spiral  line  which  extended  through 
successive  cosmic  rows.  The  actual  spiral  line  of  vi- 
bration would,  of  course,  parallel  itself  in  successive 
rotations  with  successively  the  least  possible  dif- 
ferences of  adjacency  corresponding  to  the  differences 
of  its  course  through  successive  cosmic  rows. 

The  rotary  vibration  described  above  seemed  an 
obvious  one  to  select  for  the  presentation  of  certain 
factors  which  would  be  present  in  all  rotary  vibra- 
tions. Doubtless  such  vibration  of  a  group  or 
league  of  groups  in  a  simple  spiral  line  could  not  take 
place  in  a  cosmon  that  contained  a  great  number 
of  groups  occupying  different  rotary  positions. 
The  description  of  another  kind  of  rotary  vibration 
will  possess  greater  significance  in  this  enquiry. 

If  the  two  influences  to  which  b  is  subjected  have 
different  rotary  positions  and  unequal  strengths, 
the  stronger  will  cause  b  to  swerve  farther  and  farther 
from  any  simple  spiral  line  similar  to  the  weaker's. 
Hence  fr's  motion  will  not  be  in  a  simple  but  in  a  bent 
spiral.  If  these  two  influences  are  persistent,  b 
will  travel  in  the  bent  spiral  line  to  a  position  near 
the  body  which  is  exerting  the  stronger  influence, 
there  to  be  brought  to  rest;  and  the  changes  then 
wrought  in  it  by  the  weaker  influence  will  depend 
upon  a  variety  of  circumstances,  some  of  which  are 
presently  to  be  considered  in  connexion  with  another 
aspect  of  these  induced  rotations  in  groups. 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         215 

But  if  the  stronger  of  these  two  influences  is  re- 
moved while  b  is  still  travelling  in  the  bent  spiral 
line,  a  new  kind  of  rotary  vibration,  or  secondary 
rotation,  may  be  set  up  in  b  in  a  bent  spiral  line. 
After  a  sufficient  number  of  departures  from  the 
original  simple  spiral,  this  bent  spiral  line  must 
return  upon  itself.  This  new  vibration,  or  —  to 
use  a  term  perhaps  more  suitable  —  secondary 
rotation,  will  thus  be  redundant  even  as  was  the 
vibration  in  a  simple  spiral  path.  And  though  b 
of  necessity  remains  fixed  in  cosmic  rows  and  occupies 
always  the  same  rotary  position  in  respect  of  both 
the  attractive  influences,  it  must  during  any  com- 
plete rotation  occupy  as  many  different  rotary  posi- 
tions in  respect  of  all  other  influences  as  there  are 
swervings  from  the  original  simple  spiral  represented 
in  the  relation  between  the  two  determining  influ- 
ences. Eventually  b  will  be  drawn  to  the  borders  of 
the  body  from  which  is  proceeding  the  persistent  influ- 
ence ;  and  the  time  required  for  it  to  be  brought  thus 
to  rest  will  depend  upon  6's  mass  —  i.e.  the  total 
number  of  its  centre-changes  —  upon  the  relation 
between  the  two  influences,  and  upon  the  distance. 
But  the  relation  between  the  two  influences  remaining 
constant,  the  bent  spiral  of  fr's  rotation  will  always 
be  the  same  in  character,  no  matter  what  may  be 
the  distance  between  b  and  the  attracting  body. 
And  since  each  swerving  from  the  spiral  of  the 
stronger  influence  (now  removed)  must  be  towards 


216         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   QHANGE 

the  spiral  of  the  persistent  influence,  and  since  but 

2  U 

two  influences  are  involved  —  instead   of   the  -— 

influences  involved  in  the  primary  rotation  of  a  group 
(see  page  190),  —  it  seems  that,  if  the  relation  of 
mass  to  distance  was  such  as  to  make  possible  a 
redundant  rotation  in  the  first  place,  the  bent  spiral 
of  b's  rotation  will,  in  respect  of  all  other  influences 
in  the  cosmon,  be  a  circular  or  elliptical  orbit.  If, 
then,  c  is  the  body  exerting  the  persistent  influence, 
vibratory  waves  from  a  suitably  placed  third  body, 
as  a,  will  at  one  stage  of  the  rotation  be  eliminated 
at  c  through  coincidence  with  b's  waves,  whilst  at 
the  opposite  stage  of  the  rotation  they  will  be  elim- 
inated at    b   through  coincidence  with    c's  waves, 

—  b  remaining  always  between  a  and  c  in  cosmic 
rows,  but  c's  waves  having  opposite  directions  in 
b  at  opposite  stages  of  the  rotation. 

The  character  of  such  bent  spiral  lines  of  rotation 
may  vary  indefinitely  —  in  accordance  with  the 
relation  between  the  influences  establishing  them 

—  in  the  particular  simple  spiral  lines  swerved 
from  and  in  the  distance  travelled  in  simple  spiral 
lines  between  each  pair  of  swervings. 

If  two  bodies,  as  b  and  c,  are  subject  to  repellent 
influences  respectively  from  two  dissimilarly  placed 
bodies,  as  a  and  d;  and  if  these  repellent  influences 
are  removed,  —  b  and  c  will  continue  to  advance  in 
simple  spiral  lines  at  constant  velocities  until  some 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         217 

other  influence  supervenes  to  modify  the  particular 
systems  of  disruptions  and  reformations  established 
by  the  pushes  from  a  and  d.  If  b  and  c  come  into 
one  another's  fields,  a  secondary  rotation  in  a  bent 
spiral  will  be  set  up  in  each  of  them  with  reference  to 
a  row  of  average  distance  between  them.  In  respect 
of  all  other  influences  in  the  cosmon  they  will  then 
be  revolving  about  one  another ;  although  in  cosmic 
rows  they  may  be  advancing  at  a  different  velocity 
from  that  of  the  revolution  or  they  may  early  have 
come  to  rest.  Their  position  in  cosmic  rows,  as  well 
as  the  length  of  their  paths  of  revolution  and  the 
duration  of  this  revolution  will  of  course  depend 
upon  their  mass  and  upon  the  relation  of  a's  position 
to  d's. 

It  is  obvious  that  motion  in  a  simple  spiral  line 
in  response  to  a  push  from  a  given  body  will  be  the 
opposite  of  a  similar  motion  in  response  to  a  pull 
from  the  same  body.  For,  if  the  push  gives  place 
to  a  pull,  all  modifications  must  retrace  their  steps 
through  all  the  centre-changes  of  the  attracted  body. 
Now,  if  b  is  subject  only  to  the  influence  of  c;  and  if, 
for  any  reason,  c  must  both  repel  and  attract  b  at 
the  same  time ;  if  c's  repellent  influence  is  removed 
while  b  is  still  within  c's  field,  —  b  will,  in  coming  to 
rest  in  cosmic  rows,  enter  upon  a  secondary  rotation 
similar  to  the  last  but  one  considered.  By  virtue 
of  the  exact  opposition  between  the  two  influences 
establishing  this  rotation,  b  will  in  respect  of  all 


218         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

other  influences  maintain  the  same  distance  from  c 
in  all  its  swervings  from  simple  spirals.  And  these 
swervings  will  be  continuous ;  i.e.  b  will  never  travel 
in  a  simple  spiral  line. 

The  character  of  these  bent  lines  of  rotation  or 
revolution  will  become  clearer  when  we  have  further 
considered  the  implications  of  differences  of  rotary 
position  in  the  cosmon.  This  consideration  should 
now  be  undertaken  in  connexion  with  that  other 
allied  class  of  induced  rotations  of  leagues  of  stable 
groups,  —  to  wit,  rotations  upon  axes. 

We  should  remember  that  the  members  of  a  stable 
group  that  is  subject  to  no  outside  influence  are 
rotating  within  themselves  in  different  manners  and 
at  different  velocities  with  regard  to  the  cosmic 
row  of  average  distance  within  their  group.  Though, 
when  viewed  from  without,  there  might  conceivably 
be  more  members  on  the  hither  side  of  the  average 
row  than  on  the  farther  side,  or  vice  versa,  the 
amount  of  rotary  motion  —  i.e.  the  sum  of  the  ro- 
tary changes  in  any  given  period  of  time  —  on  the 
one  side  of  it  must  equal  the  amount  of  rotary  motion 
on  the  other  side.  And  the  character  of  the  rotary 
motion  on  the  one  side  must  be  the  same  as  its  char- 
acter on  the  other  side,  this  character  being  depend- 
ent upon  the  mass  of  the  group.  But  at  any  given 
moment  the  rotary  motion  must  be,  not  the  same 
but  as  different  as  possible  in  the  two  halves  of  the 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE         219 

group ;  i.e.  for  every  line  of  supply  in  the  one  half 
disrupted  and  reformed  at  any  moment  in  any  given 
relation  to  a  given  cosmic  line,  there  must  occur  at 
the  same  moment  in  the  other  half  the  disruption 
and  reformation,  in  the  same  relation  to  this  given 
cosmic  line,  of  a  line  of  supply  whose  adjacency  to 
the  line  of  supply  corresponding  to  the  line  disrupted 
in  the  opposite  half  of  the  group  is  as  different  as 
possible  relatively  to  the  uniform  character  of  ro- 
tation within  the  group;  otherwise  all  members 
could  not  be  presenting  to  the  average  row  their 
most  diverse  possible  aspects.  (Cf.  pages  166-168.) 
Thus  if  a  and  d,  representing  the  opposite  and  out- 
ermost members  of  a  group,  exactly  balance  one 
another  in  rotary  motion,  —  as  it  seems  likely  they 
would  do,  and  as  it  will  in  this  enquiry  be  convenient 
to  assume  that  they  do,  although  any  more  complex 
balancing  of  the  two  sides  of  a  group  would  in  no 
way  affect  the  results  of  the  enquiry,  —  any  given 
modification  of  any  given  change  in  a  will  be  dupli- 
cated in  d  only  at  the  end  of  one-half  of  a  primary 
rotation  of  either  member. 

Now  if  this  group,  formed  no  matter  how,  is  for  the 
first  time  in  its  career  subjected  to  an  outside  at- 
tractive influence,  it  may  begin  to  move  towards 
the  attractive  source  in  a  simple  spiral  line.  Let 
us  suppose  that  it  is  for  some  reason  debarred  from 
changing  its  position  either  in  cosmic  rows  or  in 
successively   different   spiral   rotations,  —  as  might 


220        THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

indeed  be  the  case  when  a  sufficient  number  of  groups 
had  been  formed,  —  and  let  us  consider  the  internal 
or  lateral  modifications  which  are  caused  by  the 
attractive  migrants  and  which,  so  far  as  we  may 
now  see,  could  never  be  suppressed  by  any  outside 
influence. 

Each  member  and  the  group  as  a  whole  will  have 
acquired  a  position  in  the  cosmon  determined  by 
the  primary  rotary  position  of  the  outside  attracting 
body,  or  by  its  primary  rotation  modified  by  a 
secondary  rotation  set  up  by  some  outside  influence. 
That  is  to  say,  each  member  of  the  group  has  been 
given  a  new  rotation  or  series  of  modifications  of 
its  primary  rotation,  redundant  in  the  sum,  and 
taking  place  around  its  centre  or  with  reference  to 
any  given  cosmic  line.  Within  a  certain  period  of 
time  each  change  in  each  member  will  be  modified 
by  a  migrant  from  the  attractive  source ;  and  in  view 
of  the  vast  superiority  in  velocity  of  migrants  over 
the  primary  rotation,  it  seems  highly  unlikely  that 
one  change  would  be  modified  oftener  than  another. 

The  period  required  for  a  complete  secondary 
rotation  of  all  members  of  the  group  will  depend 
upon  the  migratory  strength  of  the  attractive  influ- 
ence and  also  upon  the  mass  of  the  group,  —  i.e. 
upon  the  total  number  of  lines  of  supply  to  be  modi- 
fied. For  a  migrant  offering  a  single  lateral  induce- 
ment may  not  produce  a  lateral  modification  in  each 
member  of  a  stable  group,  but  may  produce  only  one 


THE   FICTION  OF   A  UNIVERSE         221 

such  modification  in  the  group.  (Cf .  pages  169  and 
201-203.)  And  all  modifications  of  the  primary 
rotation  of  a  group  must  be  kept  uniform  throughout 
the  group;  otherwise  the  peculiar  character  of  the 
group  is  lost,  and  the  group  must  cease  to  exist  as 
such.  The  establishment  of  a  primary  rotation  in 
the  first  place  was  the  mark  of  the  flexibility  of  the 
rotation  of  centre-changes;  and  in  the  case  of  in- 
duced rotations  as  in  the  case  of  vibrations,  the 
concerted  action  of  the  allied  members  will  avert 
any  cumulative  distortion  of  the  group  such  as  would 
arise  from  differences  in  their  rotary  velocities. 
The  other  menace  of  such  distortion  would  be  con- 
stituted by  differences  in  the  migratory  strength 
of  the  new  influence  at  the  different  members  of  the 
group.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  in  any  group 
which  might  in  the  first  place  have  acquired  the 
stability  presumably  inherent  in  an  alliance  depend- 
ent upon  the  system  B  (Fig.  14)  the  secondary 
rotary  velocities  of  all  members  would  always  be 
the  same ;  and  this  velocity  would  be  as  the  mass  of 
the  attracting  body  and  inversely  (1)  as  the  mass  of 
the  attracted  group  and  (2)  as  the  square  of  the 
distance. 

We  may  here  observe  that  in  a  league  of  stable 
groups  whose  members  had  a  secundo-primary 
rotation  with  reference  to  the  average  row  of  the 
league  this  secundo-primary  rotation  would  doubt- 
less, up  to  a  point,  be  capable  of  equalising  the  ve- 


222        THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

locities  of  induced  rotations.  But  there  could  be  no 
demand  for,  nor  advantage  in,  an  equalisation  of 
vibratory  velocities.  Vibrations  are  not  cumulative 
in  their  influence  upon  any  motions  in  spiral  lines, 
and  contain  no  menace  except  in  their  amplitude 
of  the  moment. 
The  line  of  any  secondary  rotation  of  a  group  is  a 

certain  one  amongst  the  —  simple  spiral  lines  each 

of  which,  beginning  in  one  of  the  two  outermost 
members  of  the  group,  passes  through  all  the  changes 
in  this  member  in  a  succession  peculiar  to  itself, 
pursues  that  course  through  every  other  member 
which  belongs  to  that  member's  position  in  cosmic 
rows,  and  ends  in  the  opposite  outermost  member. 
And  the  rotation  takes  place  not  around  another 
simple  spiral  line  —  for  there  is  as  yet  but  one,  — 
but  around  any  given  cosmic  line. 

The  secondary  rotation  of  all  members  is  of  course 
the  same  in  character  and  in  velocity;  but  at  any 
given  moment  it  must  reach  opposite  stages  in  the 
opposite  halves  of  the  group. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  this  rotation  must  be 
regarded  from  the  point  of  view  of  its  cause ;  hence 
there  are  two  outermost  members,  and  other  groups 
may  be  formed  on  the  far  side  of  the  farther  of  these 
two  outermost  members. 

It  is  furthermore  to  be  remembered  that,  vast 
as  are  the  distances  in  cosmic  lines  separating  the 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         223 

members  of  a  stable  group,  they  are  exceedingly 
small  as  compared  with  the  lateral  distances  (^— ) 

contained  within  each  member.  Diagrams  are  of 
course  inadequate  as  illustrations  of  the  unknown 
relations  between  these  distances;  nevertheless, 
we  may  find  it  of  use  to  keep  before  us  Figure  19, 


9 

i 


b 

c 

d 

Fig.  19 

in  which  the  horizontal  lines  a,  b,  c,  and  d  represent 

the  outermost  and  two  other  members  of  a  group, 

2  U 
the  line  of  whose  secondary  rotation,  hk,  is— -times 

as  long  as  it  appears  to  be  in  the  diagram. 

It  is  obvious  that  if  the  secondary  rotation  could 
have  a  velocity  sufficiently  high,  the  group  would 
be  disrupted,  a  and  d  being  the  first  members  to 
depart.  Inasmuch  as  the  stable  group  is  probably 
more  stable  than  any  association  or  league  of  groups, 
and  inasmuch  as  the  numerical  inferiority  of  any 
conceivable  migratory  inducement  to  the  quantity 

2  U 

-—  must  be  very  great,  it  is  hardly  supposable  that 


224         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

disruption  of  a  group  should  thus  be  brought  about 
unless  the  group  was  already  on  the  verge  of  dis- 
bandment.  But  disruption  of  a  weak  association  or 
league  of  associations  might  be  brought  about  by 
migrants  from  one  or  from  many  sources.  The  dis- 
ruptive tendency  produced  in  any  group  by  rota- 
tion would  be  stronger  if  the  group  was  at  the  same 
time  in  a  state  of  vibration.  And  it  would  imply 
a  tendency  in  a  (Fig.  19)  to  move  slowly  away  from 
b,  and  in  d  to  move  away  from  c.  If  a  and  d  might 
actually  move  thus  away  from  the  average  row 
either  in  cosmic  rows  or  in  rotary  positions,  they 
would  by  so  much  weaken  the  tendency  in  b  and  in 
c  to  move  away  from  the  average  row. 

The  situation  of  our  group  may,  for  present  pur- 
poses, be  summarised  as  follows : 

The  group  has  but  one  position  in  the  cosmon. 
Any  given  spiral  motion  whatsoever  within  the  group 
will  take  place  in  d's  half  of  the  group,  the  space  of 
just  half  a  rotation  later  or  earlier  than  in  a's  half. 
d,  though  receiving  more  or  fewer  migrants  from 
the  attractive  source  than  a,  will  respond  to  them 
in  the  same  degree  because  of  primary  rotary  modi- 
fications preventive  of  a  cumulative  distortion  of 
the  group. 

As  such,  the  group's  situation  can  have  no  signifi- 
cance in  a  consideration  of  simple  spiral  lines,  for 
there  is  but  one  such  line  in  the  group ;  it  is  the  same 
in   rotation   and   in   vibration   and   independently 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         225 

of  the  velocity  of  either;  there  is  no  spiral  line  in 
the  cosmon  with  reference  to  which  it  may  be  ap- 
prehended; and  there  is  no  body  upon  which  the 
rotation  of  the  group  may  exert  any  measurable 
influence  in  spiral  lines.  Or  if  another  attractive 
influence  be  exerted  by  a  body  occupying  a  like 
rotary  position,  the  situation  of  the  group  will  still 
possess  no  significance. 

But  let  another  attractive  influence  be  exerted 
upon  the  group  by  a  body  occupying  a  rotary  posi- 
tion different  from  that  of  the  first  attracting  body, 
and  the  situation  of  our  group  at  once  acquires  sig- 
nificance in  any  consideration  of  spiral  lines. 

We  have  assumed  that  for  some  reason  this  group 
might  not  respond  to  this  mixed  inducement  by 
motion  through  successive  cosmic  rows  or  by  those 
successive  changes  of  rotary  position  which  are 
tantamount  to  changes  of  position  in  cosmic  rows. 
In  less  simple  instances  of  rotation  than  the  one 
under  consideration  a  group  might  well  be  debarred 
from  any  change  of  position  as  a  whole;  for,  long 
before  two  groups  could  come  near  to  occupying 
the  same  rotary  position  (no  matter  how  great  the 
distance  between  them  in  cosmic  lines)  they  would 
both  be  disrupted  by  their  excessive  modifications 
of  one  another's  primary  rotations.  (Cf.  page  195.) 
Hence,  any  group  restrained  from  changes  of  rotary 
position  as  a  whole  by  the  proximity  of  other  groups 
or  by  any  other  factor  in  its  situation  must,  when 

Q 


226         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

subjected  to  a  mixed  inducement,  enter  upon  a 
secondary  rotation  or  rotations  within  itself;  any 
such  rotation  being  redundant  in  the  sum  and  follow- 
ing always  the  same  course  —  i.e.  involving  no  suc- 
cessive differences  of  adjacency  —  in  any  given 
member  of  the  group. 

Let  us  suppose  the  original  attracting  body,  or 
P,  to  occupy  a  rotary  position  as  different  as  possible 
in  respect  of  our  group  —  no  matter  what  may  be 
the  distance  in  cosmic  lines  —  from  that  of  the  second 
attracting  body,  or  Q,  whose  line  of  rotation  in  the 
group  is  represented  in  Figure  19  by  the  vertical 
line  st.  In  the  diagram  st  is  drawn  parallel  to  hk, 
yet  we  know  that  throughout  its  course  it  must  be 
as  different  from  it  as  it  is  possible  for  one  simple 
spiral  line  to  be  different  from  another.  That  is  to 
say,  the  two  lines  are  opposites.  The  succession 
of  rotary  modifications  in  any  centre-change  along 
the  line  st  will  be  the  reverse  of  that  along  the  line 
hk;  it  will  be  that  succession  which  would  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  P  influence  if  this  was  a  repellent  in- 
stead of  an  attractive  influence.  Hence  the  rotary 
modifications  proceeding  from  Q  must  always  be 
the  opposite  in  both  a  and  d  of  those  proceeding 
from  P.  And,  the  velocity  of  migrants  being  of 
necessity  so  vastly  superior  to  the  highest  possible 
rotary  velocity  that  the  difference  between  these 
velocities  must  be  left  out  of  account  in  the  consider- 
ation of  any  group  or  league  of  groups  of  a  size  and 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         227 

mass  conceivable  (in  view  of  Figs.  14  and  16)  in 
the  cosmon,  the  modifications  from  either  P  or  Q 
must  at  any  given  moment  find  a  and  d  at  opposite 
stages  of  their  uniform  primary  rotation. 

It  is  readily  to  be  seen  that,  if  these  two  rotations 
have  the  same  velocity,  neither  can  have  any  effect 
upon  any  motions  in  spiral  lines  either  inside  or 
outside  the  group.  Each  modification  along  the  line 
hk  will  be  offset  by  an  opposite  modification  along 
the  same  line  (i.e.  st),  and  the  group's  position  for 
responding  to  any  vibratory  waves  or  to  any  attrac- 
tive migrants  from  any  source  whatsoever  cannot  be 
altered  at  any  stage  of  the  rotation,  a's  primary 
rotation  will  continue  to  be  always  before  or  behind 
tfs  by  the  space  of  half  a  rotation  of  either.  But 
a  and  d,  while  rotating  solely  with  reference  to  the 
average  row,  were  unable  either  to  move  in  spiral 
lines  or  to  generate  vibratory  waves.  When  their 
primary  rotations  are  thus  modified  from  without 
by  equal  and  opposite  influences,  there  can  therefore 
be  no  successive  differences  in  their  rotary  positions 
possessing  implications  in  spiral  motions. 

But  if  one  of  the  attractive  influences  —  say  P's  — 
is  stronger  than  the  other,  the  secondary  rotation 
along  the  line  hk  will  be  quicker  than  that  along  the 
line  st,  and  a  resultant  rotation  will  be  derived 
which  will  always  be  the  same  in  character  though 
varying  in  velocity  with  the  degree  of  inequality 
of  the  strengths  of  P  and  Q. 


228         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

For  it  is  obvious  that  the  resultant  rotation  can- 
not take  place  along  a  simple  spiral  line.  Opposing 
modifications  from  Q  are  always  present  in  the  simple 
line,  st  or  hk,  and  they  must  at  all  times  render  this 
an  impossible  line  of  rotation  unless  P's  strength 

2  U 
is  more  than  —   times  as  great  as  Q's  —  which  is 

manifestly  impossible.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
rotation  cannot  take  place  along  any  other  of  the  — 

simple  spirals,  for  P's  modifications  always  arrive 
in  the  line  hk.  If  st  was  not  the  direct  opposite  of 
hk,  the  rotation  might  conceivably  take  place  in  part 
along  simple  spirals,  because  there  might  then  be  in- 
tervals during  which  none  of  Q's  original  or  deflected 
modifications  were  present  in  the  line  hk  or  in  other 
simple  lines  then  being  visited  by  P's  deflected 
modifications.  But,  P  and  Q  being  opposite,  their 
reciprocally  caused  deflexions  must  always  preserve 
the  opposition  between  them;  and  the  line  of  the 
resultant  rotation  must  swerve  continuously  from 
successive  simple  spirals  and,  after  a  sufficient  num- 
ber of  such  swervings,  return  upon  itself.  And,  if 
the  group  is  not  to  be  disrupted,  each  swerving  from 
the  lateral  direction  st  must  be  in  the  direction  of  the 
average  row  of  the  group. 

If  P  is  repelling  our  group  while  Q  is  attracting  it, 
the  repellent  and  attractive  influences  will  coincide 
along  the  line  st,  and  the  rotation  will  in  consequence 


THE   FICTION   OF   A  UNIVERSE  229 

be  more  rapid ;  but  it  will  still  be  a  resultant  rotation 
in  a  continuously  bent  spiral  line,  for  P  could  not 
repel  the  group  without  at  the  same  time  attracting 
it. 

In  any  such  resultant  rotation  the  particular 
simple  spirals  swerved  from  would  of  course  depend 
upon  the  character  of  the  simple  lines,  as  hk  and  st, 
involved. 

We  have  now  to  find  the  simple  spiral  line  with 
reference  to  which  the  consequences  to  any  spiral 
motions  in  the  cosmon  of  this  rotation  resulting 
from  the  conflict  between  the  P  and  Q  influences 
may  be  apprehended.  It  is  obvious  that  this  line 
can  be  neither  hk  nor  st.  The  absolute  velocity  of 
the  P  rotation  must  of  course  be  regarded  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  line  st ;  that  of  the  Q  rotation, 
from  the  point  of  view  of  hk.  But  neither  of  these 
absolute  velocities  possesses  any  implications  in 
spiral  motions;  for,  no  matter  how  high  or  how  low 
it  may  be,  it  must  either  exert  no  gravitational  or 
vibratory  influence  whatever,  or  else  it  must  repre- 
sent an  influence  greater  or  less  than  is  actually 
being  exerted.  Hence  our  resultant  rotation  must 
take  place  around  a  simple  spiral  line  equally 
different  from  hk  and  st.  In  the  diagram  the  line 
yz  has  been  drawn  to  represent  this  line  or  axis  upon 
which  the  resultant  rotation  takes  place.  The  char- 
acter of  yz  will  presently  be  further  enquired  into. 
Meanwhile  we  should  ascertain  what  consequences 


230         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

are  inevitable  to  the  members,  a  and  d,  of  such  a 
resultant  rotation  taking  place  within  their  group. 

We  have  assumed  our  group  to  have  had  no  earlier 
experience  of  outside  influences  —  never  to  have  had 
a  rotary  position  anterior  to  those  established  by  P 
and  Q.  Let  us  suppose  that,  at  the  outset  of  the 
resultant  rotation  under  consideration,  the  earliest 
modifications  of  a's  primary  rotation  by  the  resultant 
influence  bring  a  into  a  rotary  position  in  respect  of 
P  —  or  of  any  other  body  similarly  placed  — 
midway  between  those  two  positions,  later  to  be 
occupied,  in  either  of  which  any  influences  pro- 
ceeding from  P  —  or  from  the  similarly  placed  body 
—  are  as  different  as  possible  from  those  reaching  a 
while  in  the  other  position.  This  difference,  let  us 
say,  will  be  one  of  strength  in  any  migratory  or 
vibratory  inducement  from  P  or  other  similarly 
placed  bodies.  We  know  that  such  differences 
must  be  created  by  the  resultant  rotation,  and  we 
shall  presently  try  to  discover  wherein  their  im- 
portance lies. 

If  a's  primary  rotation  had  reached  that  stage  in 
which  the  earliest  modifications  brought  a  into  this 
mean  position  in  respect  of  P,  d  must  at  the  same 
moment  be  brought  into  an  extreme  position  in 
respect  of  P,  because  its  primary  rotation  is  at  any 
time  at  an  opposite  stage  to  that  of  a.  (By  extremes 
will  of  course  be  understood  the  greatest  differences 
compatible  with  the  size  and  mass  of  the  group.) 


THE   FICTION  OF  A   UNIVERSE         231 

d  will  then  occupy  the  mean  position  in  respect  of  Q, 
the  opposite  of  P. 

Hence  it  is  clear  that,  at  the  end  of  half  a  resultant 
rotation,  a  will  occupy  a  rotary  position  in  respect 
of  P  as  different  as  possible  from  its  former  position ; 
i.e.  it  will  occupy  the  extreme  position  abandoned 
by  d  at  the  outset  of  the  rotation.  It  cannot,  then, 
occupy  a  position  in  respect  of  Q  as  different  as 
possible  from  its  original  position  which  was  one  of 
the  extremes;  nor  can  it  have  passed  through  this 
position  on  the  way,  for  it  was  then  always  nearer 
to  its  original  position.  Since  Q  is  the  opposite  of 
P,  it  seems  that  a  must  make  another  half  rotation 
before  reaching  the  position  most  different,  in  respect 
of  Q,  from  its  original  position. 

This  position  sought  by  a  must  meanwhile  have 
been  reached  by  d,  for  a  is  about  to  follow  in  d's 
tracks.  It  must  therefore  be  d's,  greatest  divergence 
from  its  own  former  position  in  respect  of  Q.  Hence 
it  cannot  be  d's  greatest  divergence  from  its  former 
position  in  respect  of  P;  another  half  rotation  will 
bring  d  to  this  position,  d's  first  half  rotation  must, 
however,  bring  it  into  the  same  position  in  respect 
of  P  that  was  originally  occupied  by  a. 

At  the  end  of  one  complete  secondary  rotation  of 
both  a  and  d,  a  will  be  as  far  as  possible  from  its 
original  position  in  respect  of  Q,  but  will  have 
returned  to  its  original  mean  position  in  respect  of  P. 

d's  positions  will  be  similar,  only  with  P  and  Q 
interchanged. 


232         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

At  the  end  of  one  and  a  half  rotations  of  both  a  and 
d,  a  will  again  be  as  far  as  possible  from  its  original 
position  in  respect  of  P;  i.e.  it  will  have  reached 
the  extreme  in  respect  of  P  opposite  to  that  extreme 
occupied  at  the  end  of  the  first  half  rotation.  In 
respect  of  Q  it  will  be  again  in  the  mean  position  and 
nearer  by  half  to  its  original  extreme  position  than  it 
was  one  half  rotation  back. 

d's  positions  will  be  the  same  as  a's,  only  with  P 
and  Q  interchanged. 

At  the  end  of  two  complete  rotations  both  a  and 
d  will  have  returned  to  their  original  positions  in 
respect  of  both  P  and  Q. 

It  is  seen  that  in  the  space  of  these  two  complete 
rotations  a  and  d  have  each  occupied  a  mean  and  two 
different  extreme  positions  in  respect  of  both  P  and 
Q,  —  (a's  mean  in  respect  of  P  and  d's  in  respect  of 
Q  being  at  the  beginning  and  end  of  the  rotations, 
and  the  extremes  being  reached  at  the  middle  points 
of  the  rotations), —  and  that  if,  for  any  reason,  the 
group  is  at  any  time  disrupted,  the  positions  deter- 
mining either  a's  or  d's  response  to  any  gravita- 
tional or  vibratory  inducement  whatsoever  will  be, 
not  their  positions  in  cosmic  rows,  but  these  new 
rotary  positions  established  by  the  influence  of  P 
and  Q. 

If  Q's  influence  had  been  stronger  than  P's,  the 
rotation  would  have  been  the  same  in  character,  but 
its  order  would  have  been  reversed ;  i.e.  at  the  end 


THE   FICTION  OF  A   UNIVERSE         233 

of  the  first  half  rotation,  d  would  have  occupied  a's 
original  positions,  and  a  would  have  occupied  the 
extreme  in  respect  of  P  opposite  to  that  occupied 
by  it  during  the  reverse  rotation. 

From  our  review  of  these  rotations  we  derive  the 
following  general  statements : 

In  the  rotation  of  any  stable  group  in  response  to 
influences  of  unequal  strengths  and  opposite  direc- 
tions, each  member  will  occupy  at  the  end  of  1,  3,  5, 
etc.,  complete  secondary  rotations  the  same  rotary 
position  that  was  occupied  by  the  corresponding 
member  in  the  opposite  half  of  the  group  one  half 
rotation  earlier;  and  at  the  end  of  2,  4,  6,  etc., 
rotations,  it  will  occupy  its  original  position.  At  the 
end  of  |,  2§,  4|,  etc.,  rotations,  and  at  the  end  of  1  J, 
3J,  5J,  etc.,  rotations  it  will  occupy  positions  again 
opposite  to  one  another,  and  as  different  as  possible 
from  the  two  other  named  sets  of  positions.  It 
will  never  occupy  a  position  nearer  to  or  farther 
from  the  average  row  than  its  original  position,  and 
it  will  always  bear  the  same  relation  to  the  axis  of 
rotation. 

Hence  it  would  seem  that  if  we  might  regard  a 
stable  group  as  a  disruptible  body,  not  constrained 
by  its  internal  organisation  to  respond  as  a  unit  to  all 
attractive  and  vibratory  inducements,  any  conse- 
quences of  a  rotation,  such  as  described,  to  indi- 
vidual members  of  the  group  might  be  greater  in 
proportion  to  the  squares  of  the  doubles  of  their 


234         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

distances  in  cosmic  lines  from  the  average  row. 
We  shall  presently  see  that  this  statement  must  be 
modified. 

The  axis  yz,  a  simple  spiral  line  equally  different 
from  hk  and  st,  was  found  to  be  necessary  for  the 
apprehension  of  this  rotation  which  resulted  from  the 
excess  in  velocity  of  one  of  two  contemporaneous  and 
opposite  rotations  over  the  other.  But  this  axis  may 
itself  be  the  line  of  rotation  of  a  third  attracting 
body,  as  R,  capable  of  setting  up  a  new  rotation  in 
the  group.  And  if  the  influences  of  R  and  of  another 
body  having  a  rotary  position  as  different  from  R's 
as  possible  (in  respect  of  our  group)  are  of  unequal 
strength,  a  resultant  rotation  will  take  place  in  the 
group  upon  an  axis  different  from  yz.  Now,  if  yz 
is  equally  different  from  hk  and  st,  R's  rotary  posi- 
tion is  of  course  equally  different  from  P's  and  Q's. 
If  the  rotary  position  of  R's  opposite  is  likewise 
equally  different,  or  in  any  way  different,  from  P's 
and  Q's,  the  implication  of  the  axis  of  the  new  excess 
rotation  and  of  the  axes  of  a  third,  a  fourth,  a  fifth, 
etc.,  such  rotations  necessarily  to  be  derived  from 
the  existence  of  the  axis  yz,  will  be  that  every  sim- 
ple spiral  line  is  as  different  as  possible  from  every 
other  such  line,  and  hence  that  no  cosmic  line  may  be 
distinguished  from  another ;  which  is  contrary  to  our 
symbolical  assumption.  According  to  this  assump- 
tion P,  Q,  and  R  must  therefore  be  equally  opposite 
to  one  another  in  their  positions  in  respect  of  our 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         235 

group  and  to  no  fourth  body;  any  rotation  occa- 
sioned by  the  inequality  of  P  and  R  will  take  place 
upon  the  axis  st;  and  any  rotation  occasioned  by 
the  inequality  of  Q  and  R  will  take  place  upon  the 
axis  hk. 

The  group  will   contain    — -    sets  of    similarly 

opposite  axes ;  and  during  rotation  upon  any  one  or 
more  of  these  axes  the  relation  of  all  fixed  bodies 
outside  of  the  group  to  the  average  row  within  the 
group  will  remain  the  same. 

If  the  group  is  rotating  upon  the  axis  yz ;  and  if, 
at  the  moment  when  d  is  in  the  mean  position  in 
respect  of  Q  and  in  an  extreme  position  in  respect 
of  both  P  and  R  —  when,  consequently,  a  is  in  the 
mean  position  in  respect  of  P  and  in  an  extreme  in 
respect  of  both  Q  and  R  —  Q's  influence  is  with- 
drawn and  its  consequences  destroyed  while  unequal 
inducements  from  P  and  R  set  the  group  rotating 
upon  the  axis  st,  the  character  of  this  rotation  must 
be  the  same  as  that  of  the  rotation  upon  the  axis 
yz,  —  yet  it  is  obvious  that  the  changes  of  position 
of  every  member  of  the  group  will  be  different  in 
their  sum  and  in  any  portion  thereof. 

Since  Q  is  equally  opposite  from  P  and  R,  and 
since  no  inducement  is  being  received  from  it,  there 
can  be  no  change  in  respect  of  Q  along  secondary  ro- 
tary or  spiral  lines,  d  must  in  this  respect  main- 
tain its  mean  position,  a  an  extreme  position,  and 


236         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

other  members  the  appropriate  intermediate  posi- 
tions, even  as  in  the  rotation  upon  the  axis  yz,  when 
every  member  bore  a  constant  relation  to  this  axis 
and  to  R.  Each  member  must  always  be  in  the  same 
position  for  responding  to  any  subsequent  attractive 
or  vibratory  inducement  from  Q,  although  it  may 
be  in  successively  different  positions  for  modifying 
Q's  inducements  for  the  benefit  of  other  bodies.  In 
this  rotation  upon  st,  a  will,  at  the  end  of  one  half 
rotation,  reach  an  extreme  position  in  respect  of  P 
and  the  mean  in  respect  of  R',  a  whole  rotation 
will  find  it  in  the  mean  in  respect  of  P  and  in  the 
opposite  extreme  in  respect  of  R;  midway  on  the 
second  rotation  it  will  reach  the  opposite  extreme 
in  respect  of  P  and  the  mean  in  respect  of  R ;  after 
two  complete  rotations  it  is  home  again.  At  every 
stage  of  the  rotation  it  will  be  in  the  same  extreme 
position  in  respect  of  Q. 

But  d's  rotation  in  response  to  the  resultant 
inducement  can  make  no  difference  in  its  position  in 
respect  of  any  one  or  all  inducements  now  being 
offered  in  spiral  lines.  It  occupies  at  the  outset  an 
extreme  position  in  respect  of  both  P  and  R;  and 
since  P  and  R  are  opposites,  any  motion  towards  the 
mean  in  respect  of  the  one  must  imply  a  change, 
in  respect  of  the  other,  either  in  the  direction  of  the 
mean  or  toward  a  new  extreme  greater  than  is  com- 
patible with  the  size  of  the  group;  therefore  d  can 
make  no  change  of  position.     If  the  mass  of  the 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         237 

group  is  sufficiently  great,  there  will  be  other  members 
besides  d  occupying  mean  positions  in  respect  of  Q ; 
in  such  members  any  rotation  due  to  the  inequality 
of  P  and  R  will  persistently  destroy  its  own  conse- 
quences, and  these  members  will  undergo  no  change 
possessing  implications  in  any  spiral  motions. 

If,  at  the  moment  when  d  is  in  the  mean  position 
in  respect  of  P  and  in  an  extreme  in  respect  of  both 
Q  and  R  —  when,  consequently,  a  is  in  the  mean 
position  in  respect  of  Q  and  in  an  extreme  in  respect 
of  both  P  and  R,  —  rotation  begins  upon  the  axis  st ; 
d  will  experience  the  maximum  influence  of  the  rota- 
tion, whilst  a  and  any  other  members  occupying,  at 
the  outset  of  the  rotation,  mean  positions  in  respect 
of  Q  will  undergo  no  change  of  position. 

Any  rotation  set  up  in  the  group  by  Q  and  R 
upon  the  axis  hk  will  entail  similar  consequences  to  a 
and  d  according  to  their  positions  at  the  moment 
when  the  rotation  is  begun. 

If,  as  we  have  assumed  to  be  the  case,  a  or  d  or 
both  experienced  the  maximum  influence  of  rotations 
upon  the  axes  yz,  st,  and  hk,  they  could  neither  of 
them  experience  this  maximum  influence  of  a  rota- 
tion upon  any  other  axis.  The  maximum  influence 
must  then  be  experienced,  if  at  all,  by  members 
nearer  to  the  average  row. 

It  is  readily  to  be  seen  that  the  number  of  second- 
ary rotary  positions  occupied  by  any  member  of  a 
group  during  any  given  resultant  rotation  must  be 


238         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

2  U 
very  much  less  than  —— ,  —  the  number  of  primary 

rotary  positions  it  occupies  with  regard  to  the 
average  row.  (Cf.  page  190.)  For  example,  during 
the  rotation  upon  st,  as  reviewed  above,  a  might  not 
occupy  any  of  those  positions  occupied  by  d  and 
similarly  placed  members,  although  it  might  occupy 
such  positions  during  rotations  upon  other  axes. 
And  the  same  thing  would  be  true  of  those  similar 
rotations,  or  revolutions,  described  on  pages  209  et 
seq.  The  various  kinds  of  bent  spiral  lines  of  rota- 
tion and  revolution  will  not  be  reviewed  in  detail, 
although  the  character  of  a  certain  one  amongst  such 
lines  will  appear  in  the  course  of  a  consideration 
presently  to  be  undertaken. 

During  simultaneous  rotations  upon  more  than  one 
axis  no  member  of  the  group  could  fail  to  undergo 
changes  of  position ;  on  the  other  hand,  no  member 
would  ever  occupy  the  extremes  of  position  other- 
wise possible  within  the  group.  The  intervals  at 
which  members  would  return  to  their  original 
positions  would  depend  upon  the  relations  between 
the  axes  and  between  the  velocities  of  rotation. 

It  is  now  clear  that  only  in  respect  of  cosmic  rows 
are  a  and  d  the  two  outermost  members  of  our  group. 
In  respect  of  any  motions  in  spiral  lines  there  may 

be  an  indefinite  number  (up  to  — -)  of  outermost 
members   equidistant    from   the    centre;     and   the 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE         239 

number  of  such  outermost  members  as  well  as  the 
number  of  inner  members  must  depend  upon  the 
mass  —  i.e.  the  arrangement  —  of  the  group.  And 
though,  in  respect  of  cosmic  rows,  a  and  d  are  the 
polar  members  of  all  axes,  each  may  be  a  polar 
member  of  but  one  apparent  axis,  —  i.e.  of  an  axis 
that  may  possess  any  significance  in  spiral  motions. 
If  we  would  find  the  outermost  members  of  a  group 
in  respect  of  cosmic  rows,  we  must  know  the  history 
of  all  the  influences  to  which  this  group  has  ever 
been  subjected. 

If,  of  any  two  conflicting  influences  to  which  a 
group  is  being  subjected,  the  one  is  intermittent 
whilst  the  other  is  persistent,  or  if  the  stronger  in- 
fluence is  alternately  a  pull  and  a  push,  it  may  be 
that  complete  rotation  will  never  occur,  but  that  a 
rotary  vibration  will  be  set  up  in  the  group.  Such 
vibrations  will  not  be  considered  in  this  enquiry, 
although  the  importance  of  their  influence  upon 
another  class  of  rotary  vibrations  later  to  be  men- 
tioned will  be  obvious. 

If,  of  two  influences  to  which  a  group  has  been 
subjected,  either  or  both  are  withdrawn,  the  rotation 
set  up  by  them  will,  if  not  checked  by  some  third 
influence  or  combination  of  influences,  be  prolonged, 
even  as  will  a  vibration,  for  a  period  whose  length 
will  be  as  the  mass  of  the  group  and  as  the  original 
velocity  of  rotation. 

A  league  of  groups  or  of  associations  of  groups 


240         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

must  contain  more  than  one  average  row,  and  each 
centre-change  contained  within  it  must  have  different 
sets  of  primary  rotation :  one  in  respect  of  its  group ; 
another  in  respect  of  any  association  in  which  its 
group  may  be  participating ;  a  third  in  respect  of  the 
league  as  a  whole.  At  any  given  moment  the  stages 
reached  in  each  of  these  rotations  will  of  course  be 
opposite  in  opposite  halves  of  the  group,  association, 
or  league.  Remembering  the  necessarily  vast  superi- 
ority in  lateral  distances  within  any  centre-change 
over  the  length  in  cosmic  lines  of  any  league  of 
groups  that  might  have  the  slightest  cohesion,  we 
must  recognise  that  any  group  within  such  a  league 
might  have  a  very  great  number  of  different  pri- 
mary rotations  and  still  be  able  to  rotate  secondarily 
upon  an  axis.  And  of  all  the  various  rotations  con- 
ceivable within  any  league  of  groups  those  possess- 
ing the  most  important  consequences  to  all  its  com- 
ponent groups  and  their  individual  members  will  be 
rotations  of  the  league  as  a  whole ;  for  in  these  rota- 
tions will  the  groups  and  their  members  make  their 
widest  divergences  from  any  given  positions.  It  is 
to  be  remembered  that  no  league  could  long  survive 
in  which  the  secondary  rotary  velocities  were  not 
equalised  by  compensation,  but  that  no  need  would 
exist  of  —  rather  would  a  distinct  disadvantage  lie 
in  —  an  equalisation  of  vibratory  velocities.  All 
vibrations  must,  then,  be  the  affair  of  the  compo- 
nent groups  and  associations,  as  might  likewise  be 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         241 

certain  rotations;  but  the  most  important  rotations 
of  all  would  be  the  affair  of  the  league  as  a  whole. 

A  survey  of  the  different  kinds  of  leagues  that 
might  conceivably  be  formed  at  different  times  in 
the  symbolical  cosmon  is  neither  within  the  scope 
of  this  enquiry  nor  within  the  powers  of  its  con- 
ductor. But  the  obvious  probability  of  formation, 
under  certain  circumstances,  of  a  certain  kind  of 
body  should  be  mentioned. 

If  at  any  time  a  very  large  number  of  groups 
existed  in  any  portion  of  the  cosmon,  remaining 
for  a  considerable  period  subject  to  reciprocal  pushes 
and  pulls  of  a  not  very  complexly  conflicting  nature, 
they  would  tend  to  gather  together  —  no  matter 
whether  approaching  one  another  in  cosmic  lines  or 
simply  in  changing  rotary  positions  —  in  a  single 
league  whose  extent  was  less  than  that  of  the  sum 
of  the  unattached  groups.  This  process  must  ob- 
viously be  accompanied  by  an  increasing  amplitude 
of  vibration  of  the  individual  groups  and  probably 
by  an  increasing  velocity  of  rotation  of  the  league 
as  a  whole.  The  consequent  menaces  of  disruption 
of  the  league  even  while  it  is  in  process  of  formation 
would  doubtless  result  in  giving  to  the  league  an 
organisation  under  which  its  outer  groups  would  be 
separated  by  greater  distances  than  its  inner  groups 
in  proportion  to  the  squares  of  their  distances  from 
the  average  row.  (Cf.  page  223.)  This  organisation 
embodies    the   maximum  response  to   the   mutual 


242         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

attraction  of  groups  compatible  with  the  necessary 
concession  to  the  disruptive  tendency  imposed  by 
the  increasing  velocities  of  rotation  or  of  vibration 
or  of  both:  it  implies,  moreover,  the  least  possible 
number  of  outermost  members  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  inner  members.  Such  a  body  seems  the 
most  obvious  league  of  stable  groups  to  be  formed 
in  a  cosmon  in  which  the  conflicting  pushes  and 
pulls  were  comparatively  simple,  —  in  which,  i.e., 
the  experience  of  individual  cosmoids  was  not  yet 
so  great  as  to  prompt  them,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, to  behave  in  a  highly  irregular  manner  look- 
ing to  remote  benefits.  Whether  such  a  body  would, 
without  further  incident,  settle  down  into  a  stable 
form  and  gradually  part  with  more  and  more  of  its 
rotary  and  vibratory  velocity  as  its  field  gradually 
sought  the  simplest  form,  or  whether  it  would  at 
certain  junctures  be  forced  to  part  with  whole 
sections  of  its  mass,  would  depend  upon  many  cir- 
cumstances of  its  origin  and  situation  which  will 
not  be  considered  in  this  enquiry.  Here  we  need  only 
recognise  that  such  a  body  seems  in  all  respects 
similar  to  the  spherical  bodies  that  people  our 
apparent  heavens.  And  its  resultant  rotation  upon 
a  single  axis  seems  equivalent  in  all  its  stages  to  the 
similar  rotation  of  a  cooling  body  such  as  the  Earth. 
Leaving  out  of  account  all  other  motions  of  the 
Earth  as  well  as  the  inclination  of  its  axis,  a  de- 
scription of  its  rotation  in  symbolical  one-dimension 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE         243 

terms  may  readily  be  compassed  with  the  aid  of  a 
tennis-ball. 

Draw  a  line  around  the  tennis-ball  to  represent  the 
Earth's  equator,  and  stick  three  pins  in  the  ball, 
one  each  at  the  North  Pole,  the  point  in  the  equator 
of  longitude  0°,  and  the  point  in  the  equator  of 
longitude  90°  E. 

Figure  19  may  be  used  collaterally  to  represent  the 
Earth  as  a  league  of  stable  groups. 

Let  the  heads  of  the  three  pins  in  the  order  named 
represent  the  rotary  positions,  in  respect  of  the 
Earth,  corresponding  to  three  influences,  R,  P,  and 
Q  respectively,  which  may  conceivably  set  up 
rotations  in  the  Earth.  Let  P's  pin-hole  (longitude 
0°)  be  a  (Fig.  19),  and  Q's  pin-hole  (longitude 
90°  E.)  be  d. 

Let  the  Earth  be  supposed  to  be  rotating  upon 
the  axis  yz  in  response  to  any  resultant  influence 
of  P's  and  Q's  in  which  P's  influence  is  the  stronger 
and  is  attractive  whilst  Q's  is  either  attractive  or 
repellent.  Q's  influence  may  be  left  out  of  account 
in  this  example. 

The  Earth  being  at  rest  in  cosmic  rows,  P's  in- 
fluence is  not  exerted  in  the  direction  of  the  average 
row  of  the  league,  but  is  a  lateral  influence.  Upon 
any  given  axis  it  must  be  one  of  but  two  opposite 
lateral  influences,  the  attractive  and  the  repellent. 
Since  all  portions  of  the  Earth  must,  during  the 
rotation  upon  yz,   maintain  constant  positions  in 


244         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

respect  of  R,  P's  attractive  and  repellent  influences 
may  not  be  exerted  north  and  south  from  a.  Since 
P  is  the  opposite  of  R,  its  influence  must  then  be 
exerted  east  or  west  from  a. 

Let  P's  attractive  influence  be  represented  by  an 
imaginary  arrow  perpendicular  to  the  pin  and  point- 
ing east. 

No  matter  what  P  may  be  nor  whether  its  migrants 
are  still  reaching  the  Earth,  let  the  Sun  be  supposed 
to  occupy  a  like  rotary  position  to  that  represented 
in  P's  attractive  influence.  The  Sun's  rays  reaching 
any  portion  of  the  Earth  at  any  time  will,  then,  be 
travelling  in  the  direction  indicated  by  the  arrow 
representing  the  direction  in  which  P's  attractive 
influence  is  being  exerted. 

Withdraw  the  P  and  Q  pins,  but  keep  them  and 
the  imaginary  arrow  in  their  original  positions  in 
respect  of  the  ball.  By  means  of  the  R  pin  set  the 
ball  rotating  from  west  to  east. 

At  the  outset  of  the  rotation  the  Sun  will  be 
setting  at  a,  which  is  occupying  the  mean  position 
in  respect  of  P.  a  is  on  its  way  to  that  extreme 
position  in  respect  of  P  where  P's  attractive  influence 
may  reach  it  only  after  passing  through  as  many  cen- 
tre-changes as  are  contained  in  an  apparent  diam- 
eter or  axis  of  the  league.  More  strictly  speaking, 
its  rotary  position  at  that  extreme  must,  by  virtue 
of  the  league's  organisation,  be  the  precise  equivalent 
of  a  member  or  group  which  had,  one  half  rotation 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         245 

back,  been  receiving  P's  attractive  influence  thus 
indirectly.  Its  response  to  the  attractive  influence 
will  be  the  same  as  before,  provided  the  league  does 
not  suddenly  break  up,  because  the  rotary  velocities 
involved  are  always  equalised  throughout  the 
league.  But  since  vibratory  velocities  are  left  to 
differ  among  themselves  throughout  the  league,  a's 
response  to  the  Sun's  rays  will  be  the  minimum  in 
the  league  when  it  reaches  the  position  occupied  at 
the  outset  by  d. 

At  the  outset  of  the  rotation  it  is,  then,  midnight 
at  d. 

At  the  end  of  one  half  rotation  —  i.e.  one  quarter 
rotation  of  the  tennis-ball  —  it  will  be  midnight  at 
a,  and  the  Sun  will  be  rising  at  d. 

At  the  end  of  a  complete  rotation  —  i.e.  one  half 
rotation  of  the  ball  —  a  will  reach  the  mean  in  re- 
spect of  P,  and  d  will  reach  the  opposite  extreme. 
At  a  the  Sun  will  be  rising ;  at  d  it  will  be  midday. 

At  this  point  an  imaginary  arrow  representing 
P's  influence  at  a  would  still  point  east  —  i.e.  in  a 
direction  apparently  opposite  to  that  in  which  it 
pointed  at  the  outset  of  the  rotation  —  because  P's 
influence,  being  constantly  attractive,  can  at  no 
time  cause  a  to  retrace  its  steps.  But  the  moment 
before  this  point  was  reached,  a  could  receive  the 
influence  of  the  Sun's  rays  only  through  a  portion  of 
the  Earth  lying  to  the  eastward  of  a ;  and  a  is  now 
travelling  towards  the  extreme  in  respect  of  P  op- 


246         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF   CHANGE 

posite  to  that  which  it  was  approaching  during  the 
first  half  rotation ;  hence  the  Sun's  rays  will  at  this 
point  have  an  apparently  opposite  or  westerly 
direction  at  a. 

At  the  end  of  one  and  a  half  rotations  it  will  be 
midday  at  a,  and  the  Sun  will  be  setting  at  d. 

Two  complete  rotations  (or  one  rotation  of  the 
tennis-ball)  will  find  a  and  d  in  their  original  po- 
sitions. 

Another  example: 

Let  the  rotation  be  the  same  as  before,  but  let 
the  Sun  occupy  the  rotary  position  represented  in 
P's  repellent  influence  which,  by  assumption,  is  not 
being  exerted  upon  the  Earth.  The  direction  in 
which  the  Sun's  rays  would  travel  must  then  be 
indicated  by  a  second  imaginary  arrow  also  per- 
pendicular to  P's  pin,  but  pointing  west  instead  of 
east.  At  the  outset  of  the  rotation  the  Sun  would 
rise  at  a,  and  it  would  be  midday  at  d ;  and  at  the 
end  of  one  half  rotation  —  or  one  quarter  rotation 
of  the  tennis-ball  —  it  would  be  midday  at  a  and  the 
Sun  would  set  at  d. 

Again,  if  rotation  upon  the  axis  yz  cease  while  a 
is  occupying  the  mean  position  in  respect  of  P  and 
its  original  extreme  in  respect  of  Q,  and  a  new 
rotation  begin  upon  the  axis  st,  the  opposite  direc- 
tions of  P's  attractive  and  repellent  influences  are 
changed  because  all  portions  of  the  Earth  must 
maintain  constant  positions  in  respect  of  Q.    The 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE  247 

arrow  indicating  the  direction  of  P's  influence  must 
then  point  either  north  or  south  from  a;  and  R's 
arrow  will  point  in  the  opposite  direction. 

If  rotation  take  place  upon  the  axis  hk  beginning 
while  a  is  in  its  original  position;  and  if  the  Sun's 
rotary  position  coincide  with  that  represented  in 
P's  attractive  influence  (now  removed),  —  at  d  it 
will  be  successively  midnight,  sunrise,  midday, 
sunset,  as  before ;  but  at  a  the  Sun  will  always  be  on 
the  horizon.  If  P's  influence  now  begins  again  to 
be  felt,  it  must  be  both  an  easterly  (or  westerly) 
and  northerly  (or  southerly)  influence  because  the 
Earth  is  already  subject  to  the  influences  of  both  Q 
and  R.  Hence  the  rotary  position  of  the  Sun,  by 
assumption  an  independent  body,  could  not  have 
coincided  with  the  position  represented  in  the  re- 
vival of  P's  influence ;  it  coincided  with  the  position 
represented  in  P's  attractive  influence  when  there 
was  no  rotation  upon  the  axis  hk.  And  the  revival 
of  P's  mixed  influence  will  find  any  given  group  in 
the  same  position  for  responding  to  it,  independently 
of  the  stage  of  the  rotation  upon  hk  reached  at  the 
moment  of  such  revival. 

It  is  obvious  that  resultant  rotations  —  i.e. 
rotations  possessing  implications  in  any  spiral 
motions  —  could  not  take  place  simultaneously 
upon  more  than  two  axes.  Simultaneous  rotations 
upon  three  axes  would  tend  to  bring  different  portions 
of  the  body  towards  the  same  means  or  extremes. 


248         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

If  they  were  opposite  axes,  one  rotation  would  be 
lost;  otherwise  rotations  would  take  place  upon 
two  resultant  axes. 

In  simultaneous  rotations  upon  two  axes  the  axes 
would  not  pass  through  the  same  groups  at  different 
stages  of  the  rotations,  but  would  revolve  one  about 
the  other. 

Simultaneous  rotations  upon  more  than  one  axis 
and  upon  axes  not  opposite  to  one  another  will  not 
be  reviewed  in  these  pages;  the  simple  rotations 
reviewed  above  seem  sufficient  as  illustrations  of  the 
principles  underlying  all  kinds  of  rotations  of  leagues 
of  stable  groups. 

The  Earth,  as  we  know,  has  other  motions  in  ad- 
dition to  the  rotation  upon  its  axis.  Certain  of  these 
motions  will  presently  be  considered  from  the  one- 
dimensional  point  of  view.  Meanwhile  we  may 
complete  our  review  of  the  elimination  of  vibratory 
waves. 

In  a  cosmon  certain  portions  of  which  were  thickly 
inhabited  by  groups  of  different  mass,  associated  and 
leagued  together  in  various  ways  and  exerting  va- 
rious influences  upon  one  another  at  the  same  time, 
the  process  of  transmission  of  vibratory  waves  must 
contain  certain  features  that  were  not  considered 
in  our  preliminary  review  of  the  subject.  The  im- 
plications of  these  additional  features  are  necessarily 
so  varied  that  a  comprehensive  survey  of  them  would 
lie  beyond  the  scope  of  this  essay.    A  few  of  the 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         249 

more  obvious  ones  should,  however,  be  mentioned. 
For  this  purpose  we  may  again  use  Figure  16,  sup- 
posing a,  b,  c,  and  d  to  be  vibrating  groups 
separated  by  distances  in  cosmic  lines  indefinitely 
great,  though  relatively  such  as  are  indicated  in  the 
diagram. 

In  the  first  place,  a's  and  6's  rotary  positions  will 
be  supposed  to  have  been  established  by  c  alone. 
If  b  and  c  have  the  same  mass,  a  will  under  no  cir- 
cumstances respond  to  c's  wave,  since  (in  their 
original  positions  at  (1))  a  is  connected  with  b  by 
49  lines  of  supply  to  every  9  lines  by  which  it  is 
connected  with  c.  But,  if  the  ratio  of  c's  mass  to 
fr's  is  greater  than  49 : 9,  and  if  the  distances  between 
the  three  groups  are  still  as  at  (1),  it  would  seem  that 
a  would  respond  solely  to  c,  and  that,  if  b  moved 
indefinitely  between  the  two,  a  would  respond  first 
to  the  one  and  then  to  the  other,  but  never  to  both 
at  the  same  time. 

Such  would  be  the  case  if  vibrating  groups  of 
different  mass  produced  waves  of  the  same  length. 
And  the  above  description  would  indeed  be  suitable 
if  c,  instead  of  being  a  group  of  greater  mass  than 
b's  was  an  association  or  league  of  groups  having  all 
the  same  mass  as  &'s,  for  the  waves  from  an  associa- 
tion must  pass  through  every  centre-change  in  the 
association  and  must  therefore  have  the  same  length 
if  all  groups  in  the  association  have  the  same  mass. 

But  if  b  and  c  are  of  different  mass,  the  coinci- 


250         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

dence  of  waves  must  at  any  time  be  only  partial, 
and  a  will  at  all  times  respond  to  some  extent  to 
both  b  and  c.  The  ratio  of  the  number  of  coinciding 
modifications  to  the  number  of  separate  pairs  of 
modifications  would  depend  upon  the  number  of 
lines  of  supply  involved;  it  would  vary  with  the 
square  of  the  distance. 

That  is  to  say,  if  b  moves  nearer  to  a,  the  increase 
in  the  number  of  lines  of  supply  connecting  a  with 
b  and  the  corresponding  decrease  in  the  number  of 
lines  connecting  c  with  b  will  result  in  increased 
elimination  in  a  of  c's  modifications  by  coincidence 
with  6's  in  proportion  to  twice  the  square  of  the 
distance  moved  by  b,  although  the  number  of  lines 
connecting  a  with  c  will  be  the  same  as  before. 

If  a  moves  towards  b,  the  elimination  will  increase 
with  the  square  of  the  distance  moved,  since  the 
increase  in  lines  connecting  a  with  b  will  be  greater 
than  the  increase  in  lines  connecting  a  with  c  in 
proportion  to  the  square  of  the  distance  moved  by  a. 

If  b  moves  towards  c,  the  elimination  will  decrease 
in  proportion  to  twice  the  square  of  the  distance 
moved. 

If  c  moves  towards  b,  it  will  decrease  in  proportion 
to  the  square  of  the  distance  moved. 

But  distance  is  only  one  of  the  most  obvious  de- 
terminants of  the  elimination  of  vibratory  waves  by 
coincidence.  In  a  cosmon  in  which  the  stable  groups 
were  similar  in  number,  arrangement,  and  variety 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE         251 

of  mass  to  the  atoms  of  our  actual  apparent  universe, 
the  elimination  by  b  of  certain  modifications  from  c 
might  be  either  so  great  or  so  small  that  the  influence 
of  distance,  though  omnipresent  and  regular  in  its 
operation  would  within  certain  limits  be  insignificant 
in  proportion  to  the  whole  amount  of  modifications 
involved.  For  elimination  would  depend  at  any 
time  not  only  upon  the  mass  of  individual  groups, 
the  distances  between  them,  and  the  number  and 
character  of  the  pushes  and  pulls  to  which  they  were 
at  that  time  subjected,  but  also  upon  the  character 
of  their  associations  and  the  manner  in  which  these 
associations  were  banded  together,  as  well  as  upon 
certain  other  conditions  which  need  not  here  be  con- 
sidered. 

Thus,  if  d  (Fig.  16)  was  a  body  governing  c's 
and  &'s  positions  and  was  the  source  of  vibratory 
waves  of  different  length,  c  might  conceivably  elimi- 
nate but  few  of  a  certain  set  of  waves  of  which  b 
would  eliminate  nearly  all  that  remained  of  this  set, 
although  another  set  of  waves  might  find  no  re- 
sponse in  b  owing  to  c's  interference  or  because  6's 
mass  was  such  that  under  any  circumstances  its 
responses  to  these  waves  would  be  mutually  destruc- 
tive. If  a  occupied  a  rotary  position  different  from 
fr's  and  c's,  it  would  respond  to  all  appropriate  waves 
from  d,  and  might  cause  in  b  a  responsive  vibration 
to  certain  of  d's  waves  which  had  been  eliminated 
by  c.     It  might  similarly  reflect  d's  waves  for  the 


252         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

benefit  of  a  body  which  lay  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
diagram  and  which  might  not  respond  directly  to 
d's  waves  because  of  the  interference  of  either  c  or  b. 

Whatever  the  masses  involved,  elimination  would 
of  course  be  greater  if  the  number  of  eliminating 
bodies  was  greater. 

And  of  various  sets  of  waves  emanating  from  any 
given  body,  as  a,  and  passing  through  another 
variously  vibrating  body,  as  b,  the  longer  waves 
representing  the  slower  vibration  of  lighter  groups 
would  be  eliminated  in  greater  degree  than  the 
shorter  or  longer  waves  representing  the  more  rapid 
vibration  of  heavier  groups,  because  in  their  passage 
through  any  variously  vibrating  centre-change  their 
component  modifications  would  be  fewer  and  sepa- 
rated by  relatively  greater  distances  and  would  in 
consequence  be  more  exposed  to  complete  elimi- 
nation by  the  denser  and  more  numerous  waves 
emanating  from  heavier  groups. 

Considering  the  very  great  conceivable  differences 
in  wave  lengths  it  seems  likely  that  their  effects 
upon  groups  would  be  widely  different;  and  that  a 
body  having  many  rapid  vibratory  rates  might 
entirely  eliminate  longer  waves  representing  a  great 
amplitude  of  vibration  without  itself  acquiring  more 
than  a  comparatively  slight  amplitude  of  vibration 
in  response  to  these  longer  waves. 

From  this  general  review  of  vibrations  arising 
from  the  reciprocal  menace  of  stable  groups  ap- 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         253 

proaching  one  another  in  spiral  lines  (or  in  spiral 
changes  of  rotary  position)  it  seems  not  improbable 
that  the  consequent  modifications  of  lines  of  supply 
should  give  rise,  like  the  ether  waves  of  our  experi- 
mental knowledge,  to  the  various  phenomena  known 
as  heat,  light,  chemism. 

That  another  class  of  modifying  waves  must  in- 
evitably be  present  in  the  cosmon  has  already  been 
suggested.  Modifications  similar  in  character  to 
those  considered  above,  though  different  in  velocity, 
would  undoubtedly  have  arisen  if  the  members  of 
the  groups  involved  had  in  the  first  place  been 
normally  at  rest  with  reference  to  one  another  in- 

2  U 

stead  of  presenting  successively  their  ——  different 

aspects  to  the  cosmic  row  of  average  distance.  This 
primary  rotation  of  members  implies  a  second  set  of 
vibrations,  rotary  in  character,  from  which  the  re- 
sultant modifications  would  be  governed,  as  to 
velocity  and  numerical  value  at  a  distance,  by  the 
same  laws  that  governed  the  linear  modifications. 
In  associated  groups  vibrating  within  one  another's 
fields,  the  members  would,  then,  have  the  following 
different  rotary  motions  imposed  one  upon  the 
other:  (1)  the  motion  pertaining  to  the  group;  (2) 
the  motion  pertaining  to  the  association;  (3)  the 
motion  imposed  by  attractive  migrants  travelling 
in  long  spiral  lines;    (4)  the  rhythmical  vibration 


254         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

in  spiral  lines  or  in  spiral  changes  of  rotary  position ; 
(5)  the  rhythmical  rotary  vibration  imposed  by  the 
proximity  of  the  rotating  members  of  other  groups. 
It  is  obvious  that  these  last-named  vibrations  must 
be  as  various  in  character  as  are  the  sum  of  existing 
groups  and  the  conditions  of  their  existence.  That 
they  must  at  times  be  the  occasion  of  the  formation 
or  disruption  of  associations,  of  the  mutual  attrac- 
tion or  repulsion  of  groups,  and  of  spirally  linear 
vibrations  in  groups ;  that  they  must  at  other  times 
be  themselves  set  up  by  the  linear  vibrations: 
all  these  statements  seem  naturally  to  be  derived 
from  our  examination  of  the  character  of  the  stable 
groups.  No  review  of  the  implications  of  these 
vibrations  will  be  attempted  in  these  pages.  It  is 
here  sufficient  to  point  out  their  probable  similarity 
to  those  waves  productive  of  the  observed  phenom- 
ena of  electricity  and  magnetism. 

But  one  more  probability  will  be  considered  in 
connexion  with  the  one-dimension  universe.  In  any 
region  of  the  cosmon  in  which  stable  groups  existed 
in  any  considerable  number,  a  considerable  degree 
of  closeness  in  their  relations  in  the  cosmon  would 
doubtless  be  established  in  the  interest  of  variety 
in  these  relations.  If  we  recur  to  our  considerations 
in  connexion  with  Figure  16  (page  163  et  seq.),  we 
must  surmise  that  if,  from  a  portion  of  this  thickly 
settled  region  of  the  cosmon,  a  considerable  number 


THE   FICTION   OF   A   UNIVERSE         255 

of  groups  were  forcibly  abstracted,  a  tension  would 
at  once  be  created  in  other  portions  of  the  same 
region.  And  when  the  abstracting  force  was  re- 
moved, the  depopulated  district  would  straight- 
way become  inhabited  again,  very  much  as  before. 
One-dimensional  nature  would  probably  abhor  a 
vacuum. 

It  would  seem  that  we  had  now  sufficient  material 
in  the  form  of  statements  bearing  different  degrees 
of  probability  to  warrant  a  guess  as  to  the  signifi- 
cance of  our  one-dimension  universe  and  the  sym- 
bols we  have  used  in  treating  of  it.  My  guess  is 
twofold,  as  follows: 

(1)  If  the  one-dimension  universe  should  produce 
human  beings  living,  thinking,  seeing,  feeling,  in 
the  partial,  evolutionary  way  that  is  ours,  the  stable 
groups  and  their  implications  above  considered 
would,  at  some  period  in  the  existence  of  such  a 
human  race,  be  appropriate  and  useful  symbols  of 
that  ultimate  process  which  was  not  then  discussable 
as  such.  In  other  words,  the  cosmon  which  dies  in 
giving  birth  to  a  new  cosmon  that  is  different  from 
the  old  by  virtue  of  this  death  and  birth,  would 
sooner  or  later  produce  a  cosmon  which  was  partially 
apprehensible  to  contemporaneous  beings  like  our- 
selves in  its  suggestive  apparent  forms  of  free 
rovers,  centre-changes,  stable  groups,  etc. 

(2)  For  more  immediate  and  practical  purposes, 


256         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

the  stable  group  would  be  described  by  these  same 
human  beings  as  an  atom  of  matter;  and  the  other 
symbols  of  the  one-dimension  universe  which  have 
been  used  in  the  above  investigation  would  be 
described  in  the  manners  already  indicated  in  the 
course  of  this  investigation. 

The  grounds  of  this  twofold  guess  have,  for  the 
most  part,  been  reviewed  only  in  their  general  aspect, 
yet  in  a  manner  perhaps  as  thorough  as  was  com- 
patible with  the  necessarily  unscientific  point  of 
view  of  the  reviewer.  Such  small  amount  of  detailed 
investigation  as  has  been  recorded  in  this  chapter 
was  undertaken  largely  in  deference  to  the  point 
of  view  of  others.  To  the  writer  any  mechanical 
account  of,  say,  gravitation  possesses  far  less  interest 
and  far  less  semblance  of  stability  than  those  con- 
siderations, vague,  incapable  of  any  but  the  clumsi- 
est expression  in  words,  and  correspondingly  more 
convincing,  which  bear  upon  the  relation  between 
KT  and  K 1.  Before  enquiring,  however,  into  the 
possible  effect  of  these  considerations  upon  our 
thought  of  the  more  immediate  future,  we  should 
extend  our  examination  of  probabilities  in  respect 
of  two  significant  problems  of  the  symbolical  one- 
dimension  universe.     First  let  us  consider 

The  implications  of  motions  of  stable  groups  or 
leagues  of  them  through  the  cosmon  in  spiral  lines, 
whether  simple  or  bent. 

We  are  at  no  time  to  be  betrayed  into  thinking 


THE   FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         257 

that  our  discussion  of  Figures  15-18  (page  163 
et  seq.)  has  been  productive  of  any  hard-and-fast 
conception  of  the  symbolical  cosmon.  Indeed,  if 
anybody  were  to  take  these  diagrams  and  give  me 
a  satisfactory  account  of  the  spatial  necessity  im- 
plied in  them,  he  would  thereby  convince  me  that 
the  symbols  they  illustrated  had  lost  whatever  use- 
fulness they  might  have  possessed  in  interpreting 
ultimate  cosmical  change.  Any  symbols  of  reality 
invented  by  us  on  the  hither  side  of  KT  are  neces- 
sarily incomplete,  faulty;  and  the  obvious  margin 
of  error,  provided  it  be  not  too  wide  —  provided  it 
be  narrower  than  that  belonging  to  earlier  symbols 
—  is  the  index  of  their  usefulness.  Hence  a  sym- 
bolical necessity  may,  under  no  circumstances,  be 
completely  accounted  for.  If  our  symbolical  cosmon 
is  a  symbol  suited  to  our  position  in  time  {i.e.  to 
our  experience),  any  subsequent  modifications  of  it 
productive  of  a  sufficient  narrowing  of  its  obvious 
margin  of  error  would  mean  that  the  modifying 
agent  was  no  longer  living  in  that  material,  geo- 
metrical universe  whose  phenomena  had  suggested 
this  symbol. 

Now,  any  person  living  upon  Earth  to-day  who 
wishes  to  use  this  symbol  will  doubtless  recognise 
that  a  centre-change  must,  from  its  own  point  of 
view,  be  the  limit  or  centre  of  the  cosmon;  and 
that,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  whole  cosmon, 
each  centre-change  must  occupy  as  many  different 


258         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

positions  as  there  are  other  centre-changes  in  the 
cosmon.  While  using  the  symbol  in  question,  he 
can  in  no  way  escape  from  this  necessity  of  which 
he  may,  likely  enough,  give  a  better  account  than 
is  contained  in  these  pages  although  he  may  never, 
beyond  a  certain  point,  add  to  its  definiteness  while 
he  continues  to  live  a  material,  geometrical  life. 
In  approaching  the  problem  under  consideration, 
this  necessity  must  be  kept  always  before  us. 

Likewise  to  be  kept  before  us  is  the  necessity,  often 
referred  to,  that  the  lateral  distances  in  any  centre- 
change —  i.e.  the  number  of  different  modifications 
of  changes  possible  within  it  —  must  be  vastly 
greater  than  the  length  in  cosmic  lines  of  any  pos- 
sible league  of  stable  groups  (i.e.  the  number  of 
changes  of  position  of  a  migrant  travelling  from  one 
end  of  the  league  to  the  other). 

Finally  a  third  necessity,  often  referred  to  and  now 
to  be  kept  before  us,  is  that  any  stable  group  or 
league  of  them  keeping  to  the  same  position  in 
cosmic  rows  and  undergoing  the  appropriate  rotary 
changes  —  the  successive  rotations  of  each  centre- 
change  following  a  spiral  line  that  involves  succes- 
sively the  least  possible  differences  in  all  adjacencies 
—  must  respond  spirally  to  all  migratory  and  vi- 
bratory inducements  in  precisely  the  same  manner 
as  if  it  were  travelling  in  a  spiral  line  through  suc- 
cessive cosmic  rows. 

From  these  three  necessities  we  must  draw  one 


THE   FICTION   OF   A  UNIVERSE         259 

of  two  conclusions  respecting  spiral  motions  in  the 
symbolical  cosmon. 

(1)  Considerable  changes  of  position  in  cosmic  rows 
may  take  place  only  at  a  comparatively  early  stage 
of  the  cosmic  life  when  centre-changes  are  compara- 
tively few  in  number.  With  increasingly  frequent 
formation  of  centre-changes,  and  with  their  banding 
together  in  stable  groups  and  leagues  of  groups 
numerically  comparable  in  any  given  portion  of  the 
cosmon  to  those  contained  within  the  bodies  that 
people  our  apparent  heavens,  such  changes  of  posi- 
tion could  rarely,  if  ever,  occur. 

(2)  The  growing  restrictions  upon  the  process  of 
free-roving  are  uniform  in  all  portions  of  the  cosmon ; 
and,  at  a  certain  stage  of  the  cosmic  life,  the  maximum 
number  of  centre-changes  are  formed  simultaneously, 
the  number  of  cosmic  rows  separating  any  two 
centre-changes  equalling  the  number  of  other 
existent  centre-changes.  Successive  disruptions  of 
centre-changes  —  owing  to  inefficiency  of  the  earlier 
systems  of  supply  —  leading  to  the  eventual  estab- 
lishment of  the  system  B,  Figure  14,  will  then  always 
take  place  in  the  same  cosmic  rows.  Henceforth 
the  effects  of  the  reciprocal  influences  of  centre- 
changes  are  always  purely  an  affair  of  internal  rotary 
modifications,  since  they  could  never  move  from  the 
cosmic  rows  in  which  they  were  formed.  And  the 
first  differences  in  the  mass  of  stable  groups  will 
arise  from  the  concerted  action  of  two  or  more 
groups  of  like  mass. 


260         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

The  degree  of  probability  of  (2)  is  so  vastly  and 
obviously  superior  to  that  of  (1)  as  to  require  no 
detailed  discussion. 

According  to  (2)  it  is  readily  to  be  seen  that,  in 
respect  of  all  spiral  motions,  any  number  of  centre- 

2U 

changes  up  to  — —  might  be  equidistant  from  any 

given  centre-change,  as  a;  and  any  one  of  these 
centre-changes  might,  in  this  respect,  move  alter- 
nately towards  a  and  away  from  it  without  endanger- 
ing its  own  existence  or  that  of  any  of  the  other 
centre-changes. 

If  the  Sun,  Earth,  and  Moon  be  leagues  of  stable 
groups,  only  a  complete  history  of  their  antecedents 
would  enable  us  to  determine  the  positions  in  cosmic 
rows  of  their  component  centre-changes. 

If  the  Earth  were  detached  from  the  Sun  when 
the  rotary  and  vibratory  velocities  of  their  compo- 
nent stable  groups  had  risen  beyond  the  point  at 
which  so  many  groups  might  share  a  single  average 
row,  the  Earth,  without  changing  its  position  in 
cosmic  rows,  would  doubtless  eventually  settle  down 
into  two  distinct  rotations :  the  one  —  upon  its 
own  axis,  and  with  reference  to  which  the  new  aver- 
age row  remained  fixed  —  derived  from  the  original 
rotation  of  the  joint  league  upon  its  axis;  the  other 
—  upon  an  axis  shared  by  the  separate  bodies  — 
established  by  the  conflict  between  the  mutually 
repellent  and  attractive  influences  of  the  two  bodies. 


THE   FICTION   OF  A   UNIVERSE         261 

If  the  Moon  were,  for  a  similar  reason,  detached 
from  the  Earth,  it  could  not  rotate  upon  an  axis 
of  its  own  unless  it  departed  so  far  from  its  former 
rotary  position  as  to  escape  the  controlling  in- 
fluence of  the  Earth,  because  no  league  of  stable 
groups  could  rotate  upon  more  than  two  axes  at 
the  same  time." 

None  of  the  above-mentioned  rotations  could  be 
simple  rotations  upon  fixed  axes  such  as  those 
described  on  pages  218-238.  For  example,  the 
rotation  of  the  Moon  that  was  established  by  the 
conflict  between  the  mutually  repellent  and  at- 
tractive influences  of  itself  and  the  Earth  must  be 
modified  by  the  influence  of  its  former  rotation  upon 
the  Earth's  axis.  And  all  rotations  of  Sun,  Moon, 
and  Earth  must  be  modified  by  the  influences  of 
all  other  bodies  lying  within  their  fields.  Hence 
the  apparent  polar  members  of  all  their  axes  are 
constantly  changing. 

If  we  thought  we  had  learned  how  to  navigate 
space  and  had  fitted  out  an  expedition  to  the  Moon, 
and  if  this  expedition  was  set  rotating  in  the  ap- 
propriate bent  spiral  and  could  be  kept  to  this  spiral 
for  a  sufficient  number  of  rotations,  it  would  find 
the  Moon  where  it  had  expected  to  find  it.  If  it 
continued  in  the  same  spiral,  it  must  either  pierce 
the  Moon  and  emerge  on  the  other  side  of  it  or  else 
must  push  the  Moon  farther  away  from  the  Earth. 
If,  however,  it  had  been  set  rotating  in  a  different 


262         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

spiral,  it  might  have  left  the  Moon  behind  without 
having  ever  come  into  spiral  contact  with  it.  And 
in  either  case,  our  expedition  would  get  no  farther 
from  the  Earth,  as  migrants  travel. 

A  word  as  to  our  ideas  of  magnitude  is  perhaps 
appropriate  in  this  connexion. 

In  any  experiments  that  we  might  make  for  the 
purpose  of  learning  something  of  the  organisation 
of  a  stable  group,  we  must  of  course  make  use  of 
our  senses  of  sight  and  touch  supplemented  by  in- 
struments constructed  along  straight  and  bent 
lines.  At  the  nearest  point  to  a  rotating  centre- 
change  that  we  could  ever  hope  to  reach  by  such 
means,  we  should  be  distant  from  it  many  times 

^—  cosmoids  or  successive  changes  of  position.     It 

must,  then,  seem  to  us  to  be  very  small,  and  a  great 
number  of  such  centre-changes  would  be  required 
to  make  an  object  of  considerable  apparent  size. 
The  Earth  must  unquestionably  occupy  an  enor- 
mously greater  space  in  the  cosmon  than  the  modi- 
fied rotary  characters  of  its  component  stable  groups 
would  lead  us  to  assign  to  it,  supposing  we  could 
appreciate  its  extent  in  cosmic  rows.  Yet  if  we 
could  perceive  any  one  of  its  centre-changes  from 
a  distance  sufficiently  small,  we  should  find  that 
any  cosmoid  might  travel  much  farther  within  this 
centre-change  than  if  it  emerged  in  a  cosmic  line 
and  travelled  the  whole  length  of  the  Earth  and  back. 


THE   FICTION   OF   A  UNIVERSE         263 

If  the  stable  group  and  the  atom  of  matter  are 
equivalent  symbols  of  ultimate  change,  some  specu- 
lation is  possible,  in  connexion  with  our  conclusion 
(2),  as  to  the  destiny  of  matter.  No  such  specula- 
tion will  here  be  undertaken.  As  a  starting-point, 
however,  a  certain  consideration  obviously  suggests 
itself.  In  the  second  chapter  (page  80)  it  was  stated 
that  matter  could  not  conceivably  absorb  all  that 
which  was  not  matter.  But  it  must  be  observed 
that,  if  matter  gives  place  to  something  which  is 
neither  matter  nor  ether  (i.e.  neither  stable  group 
nor  free-roving  cosmon),  the  geometrical  necessity 
considered  in  connexion  with  Figures  15-18  need 
no  longer  exist. 

The  second  problem  here  to  be  noticed  briefly 
is  one  that  has  of  necessity  been  repeatedly  touched 
upon  and  must  be  recurred  to  in  the  chapters  to 
follow.     This  is 

The  relation  between  the  symbolical  cosmon  and 
that  problematical  portion  or  phase  of  it  whose 
experience  might  at  some  period  be  so  wide  that 
it  described  itself  as  taking  account  more  or  less 
accurately  of  changes  bearing  apparently  a  remote 
relation  to  it  in  every  respect. 

That  the  symbolical  cosmic  progression  from  that 
assumptive  K 1  with  which  we  began  our  considera- 
tion must  have  been  continuously  in  the  direction 
of  increased  heterogeneity  because  of  the  growing 
sum  of  real  experience  has  been  clearly  indicated. 


264         THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

That  among  the  immensely  various  motions  and 
alliances,  associative  and  otherwise,  of  the  stable 
groups,  certain  regular  processes  of  metabolism 
should  be  evolved ;  and  that,  among  such  processes, 
the  survival  of  those  which  possessed  the  faculty 
of  reproduction  of  their  like  under  conditions  more 
or  less  different  should  be  favoured  by  the  exigencies 
of  a  growing  cosmic  experience ;  that  all  the  different 
varieties  of  these  processes  should  eventually  dis- 
appear in  favour  of  others  whose  average  of  activity, 
at  least,  was  more  complex  and  more  extended,  — 
all  these  developments  are  not  only  intelligible, 
but  are  essentially  of  a  piece  with  those  earlier 
developments  which  we  have  reviewed  in  some  detail. 
We  have  seen  that,  in  the  case  of  the  individual 
cosmoids,  the  ultimate  relief  from  congestion  and 
the  consequent  postponement  of  a  dead-lock  in 
the  cosmic  processes  has  always  come  in  the  form 
of  an  apparent  menace  to  an  existing  institution. 
It  has  always  been  a  compelling  or  even,  as  it  were, 
a  destroying  influence  from  which  gain  has  been 
derived.  The  cosmoids  apprehending  only  their 
immediate  neighbours  must  continually  be  com- 
pelled into  uncongenial  surroundings  that  ultimate 
release  from  a  greater  danger  may  be  secured.  Any 
account  taken  of  their  immediate  surroundings 
must  in  time  include  an  account  of  remote  regions 
of  the  cosmon,  in  which  account  the  fulness  of  detail 
would  vary  directly  with  the  distance  in  time  from 


THE   FICTION   OF  A  UNIVERSE         265 

K 1  and  inversely  with  the  distance  in  cosmic  lines. 
That  the  cosmoids  must  be  so  compelled  and  that 
such  account  must  be  taken  solely  by  virtue  of  that 
attribute  —  the  ability  to  profit  by  their  restricted 
experience  since  K 1  —  which  is  symbolical  of  their 
essential  property  of  motion,  we  have  seen  to  be 
a  positive  necessity  of  the  case,  to  the  exclusion 
of  any  external  governing  or  informing  influence. 
That  in  time  certain  of  the  resultant  processes 
should  take  a  shape  which  described  itself  as  con- 
sciousness or  mind,  and  was  appropriately  mystified 
by  the  insufficiency  of  the  description  seems  at  least 
as  probable  as  that  KT  should  have  been  reached 
when  molecular  life  or  plant  life  was  the  most  ad- 
vanced form  of  cosmic  activity.  Equally  rational 
seems  the  conjecture  that  the  "mind"  which  eventu- 
ally contemplates  its  own  imminent  translation 
from  KT  to  K 1  will  not  be  so  perplexed  by  the 
consciousness  of  its  immense  superiority  over  our 
minds  of  to-day  as  we  now  are  in  contemplating 
the  gap  which  separates  us  from  the  plants. 

And  the  question,  Whence  all  this  great  world? 
could  have  no  meaning  to  this  best  of  knowers  save 
as  one  of  the  difficulties  necessarily  confronting  an 
ancestry  that  grappled  with  ideas  of  finitude  and 
infinity.  Of  any  supposable  universe  other  than 
the  one-dimension  universe  no  account  could  be 
in  any  way  useful  which  offered  no  explanation  of 
the  origin  of  the  "materials"  of  which  it  was  made. 


266         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

The  only  answer  to  " Whence?"  is  then  " Unknow- 
able"; and  any  who  take  this  answer  seriously 
must  cease  to  think  at  all,  since  it  possesses  no 
implications  beyond  a  denial  of  their  right  to  even 
partial  judgement  in  any  particular  of  their  existence. 
In  a  universe  which  may  demonstrate  the  sum  of 
possible  differences  and  outside  of  which  or  anterior 
to  which  nothing  is  therefore  conceivable,  the 
question  "Whence?"  is  of  course  meaningless. 

To  sum  up,  now,  the  results  of  this  investigation 
in  their  relation  to  those  other  investigations  re- 
corded in  the  first  two  chapters: 

It  is  not  contended  that  a  complete  universe  may 
be  constructed  out  of  logic.  It  is  contended,  how- 
ever, that  a  complete  universe  may  not  be  con- 
structed in  any  other  way.  In  other  words,  the 
construction  of  a  complete  universe  is  not  in  ques- 
tion at  all:  cannot  possibly  be  a  legitimate  human 
aim.  Here,  indeed,  is  one  expression  of  the  principle 
of  continuous  change:  Change  is  not  yet  defined; 
hence  you  cannot  know  what  the  universe  is  nor 
anything  in  it. 

But  observe  what  is  indeed  possible,  according 
to  the  same  necessity.  You  may  go  on  improving 
your  conceptions  of  phenomena  up  to  any  point 
within  those  limits  to  human  or  present-day  ex- 
perience which  will  appear  obvious  to  omniscience. 
You  may  go  on  indefinitely  separating  illusion  from 


THE  FICTION  OF  A  UNIVERSE         267 

illusion;  i.e.  putting  successive  conceptions  behind 
you.  You  may  not  discover  what  honey  dew  is, 
but  you  may  satisfy  yourself  that  it  is  not  a  "kind 
of  saliva  emanating  from  the  stars."  How  do  you 
do  this? 

Leaving  poetic  intuition  out  of  account  as  a  faculty 
rather  difficult  to  discuss,  you  know  two  ways  of 
doing  this.  One  is  by  an  exhaustive  study  of  ap- 
pearances; the  other  is  by  an  equally  painstaking 
application  of  logical  methods  to  the  first  principle 
to  which  all  appearances  point.  The  former  plan 
is  at  present  distinctly  the  more  popular  of  the  two, 
and  its  results,  so  far  as  they  go,  have  been  thrilling 
indeed.  But,  since  one  of  these  results  has  been 
to  emphasise  more  strongly  than  ever  before  the 
necessity  that  Change  is  the  basis  of  all  phenomena, 
Change  must  itself  become  a  subject  of  discussion. 
Change  is  difficult  to  talk  about;  it  is  constantly 
denying  the  competence  of  logic  to  sound  all  its 
manifestations;  yet  it  has  this  obvious  advantage. 
If  you  begin  with  particular  phenomena,  you  are 
dealing  exclusively  with  that  which  can  have  no 
ultimate  validity;  but  if  you  begin  with  Change, 
you  stand  on  the  firm  basis  of  an  immutable  prin- 
ciple.    (Cf.  page  18.) 

That  Change,  single,  continuous,  homogeneous, 
culminates,  for  one  thing,  in  this  apparent  universe 
of  ours  is  a  conclusion  inevitably  derived  from  any 
painstaking  study  of   matter,   politics,   love,   elec- 


268         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

tricity.  How  it  may  so  culminate  is  the  question 
that  has  been  discussed  in  some  of  its  more  obvious 
aspects  in  the  course  of  this  chapter.  It  is  a  pretty 
exercise,  and  nothing  in  the  world  could  be  better 
worth  while.  Of  all  the  thousands  of  young  men, 
now  potential  scientists  and  philosophers,  I  should 
like  to  see  at  least  one-half  enabled  to  devote  from 
a  year  to  a  lifetime  of  thought  to  enquiries  of  this 
nature.  For  not  only  are  such  enquiries  essential 
to  the  continued  advancement  of  knowledge,  but 
they  carry  the  promise  of  a  rich  reward,  even  within 
our  day,  to  the  curious  investigator  and  the  practical 
philanthropist  alike. 

Certain  obvious  inconsistencies  in  the  terminology 
of  this  chapter  were  desirable  in  the  interest  of 
brevity.  For  example,  "real  cosmoids"  means 
cosmoids  as  they  would  be  regarded  by  any  intel- 
ligence that  did  not  stipulate  for  an  illusory  per- 
manent " thing"  as  a  subject  for  discussion. 
Similarly,  "symbols  of  reality"  means  the  assumed 
permanent  symbols  of  an  ultimate  process.  "  In- 
definite" is  used  with  reference  to  the  unknown 
possibilities  of  any  particular  epoch.  That  reality 
is  the  limit  of  the  possible  is,  of  course,  implied  in 
the  results  of  this  investigation. 


CHAPTER  IV 


REASON  AND   WILL 


In  this  chapter  and  in  those  to  follow,  the  results 
reached  in  the  course  of  the  foregoing  chapters  will 
be  taken  for  granted  and  will  be  frequently  referred 
to,  although  it  will  sometimes  be  desirable  to  cover 
a  portion  of  the  old  ground  a  second  time. 

It  is  perfectly  possible  to  speak  of  consciousness, 
its  origin  and  destiny,  in  the  same  spirit  and  intent 
as  of  a  particular  idea  or  of  an  apple.  For  the  con- 
scious self  is  clearly  one  of  the  possible  and  inevi- 
table illusions  of  which  everybody  takes  account  and 
about  which  everybody  disagrees  with  his  neigh- 
bour's positive  statements  except  in  so  far  as  they 
describe  it  as  an  embodiment  of  Change.  It  is 
entirely  natural  that  we  should  unite  on  the  term 
Consciousness  in  the  face  of  this  disagreement, 
because  we  find  it  necessary  to  classify  our  illusions 
in  the  most  obvious  manner  possible.  Thus,  a  man 
who  believes  the  stones  to  possess  consciousness 
will  generally  use  the  term  in  the  same  way  as  a  man 
who  holds  the  contrary  belief,  because  he  readily 
admits  that  it  seems  to  apply  more  certainly  to 

269 


270         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

living  animals  than  to  stones  or  even  to  trees;  just 
as  a  man  who  admits  his  complete  ignorance  of 
apples  and  pears  will  nevertheless  speak  fluently  of 
both  fruits  and  make  the  usual  distinctions  between 
them. 

But,  the  universe  itself  being  a  continuous  and 
homogeneous  process,  it  is  impossible  to  treat  con- 
sciousness as  a  fundamental  entity  having  begin- 
ning or  end  or  actual  residence  in  living  beings. 
This  is  indeed  old  ground  revisited;  nevertheless 
an  analogy  and  a  further  explanation  may  be  of 
interest. 

In  our  consideration  of  the  hypothetical  universe 
of  one  dimension  we  saw  that  the  stable  group 
was  the  source  of  waves  travelling  through  the 
cosmon  at  a  vastly  different  velocity  from  that  of 
any  modifications  that  might  emanate  from  any  of 
its  members  after  the  disruption  of  the  group.  But, 
since  the  velocity  of  the  waves  emanating  from  the 
stable  group  was  determined  by  the  constant  ratio 
between  mass  and  primary  rotary  velocity  which, 
in  turn,  was  derived  solely  from  the  symbolical 
ability  of  the  cosmoids  to  profit  by  experience,  it  is 
clear  that  the  formation  of  the  stable  group  in- 
augurated no  really  new  process  in  the  universe. 
The  cosmoids  were  changing  places  as  before,  but 
to  us  who  were  unable  to  comprehend  all  their  in- 
dividual changes  it  was  convenient  to  invent  the 
idea  of   a   vibrating   stable  group,    the   source   of 


REASON  AND  WILL  271 

waves  travelling  at  a  uniform  velocity  vastly  lower 
than  that  of  migrants.  Similarly,  when  the  experi- 
ential atom  of  matter  is  disrupted  or  transformed 
with  a  loss  of  weight,  it  is  inconceivable  that  the 
sum  of  any  fundamental  process  is  in  consequence 
either  greater  or  less :  in  deference  to  our  ignorance 
of  such  processes,  we  find  it  convenient  to  say  that 
purely  material  processes  have  suffered  a  loss.  It 
is,  then,  out  of  the  question  that  anything  essen- 
tially new  should  arise  when  earth,  water,  and  air 
give  of  themselves  to  the  seed  to  produce  a  plant ; 
or  that  any  new  process  should  have  been  evolved 
at  that  time  in  the  past  when  plant  life  first  made  its 
appearance. 

Of  equal  necessity,  and  still  more  obviously,  is 
consciousness  itself  a  symbol  dependent  at  any  time, 
for  the  particular  quality  of  its  appearance,  upon  the 
particular  experience  embodied  in  that  ultimate 
change  which  it  invariably  shares  with  the  objects 
affecting  it.  By  "the  particular  experience"  is 
meant  of  course  the  particular  degree  of  experience, 
since  qualitative  differences  in  illusions  represent 
quantitative  differences  in  ultimate  experience,  or 
differences  of  position  in  the  order  of  change.  Very 
significant  were  those  historically  celebrated  doubts 
as  to  the  possibility  of  anything  having  had  a  be- 
ginning, which  were  suggested  by  the  fact  of  our 
inability  to  fix  in  imagination  the  point  at  which 
such  beginning  should  have  taken  place.     At  all 


272         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

events,  it  should  now  be  sufficiently  clear  that,  if 
we  could  know  enough  about  consciousness,  we 
should  never  speak  of  its  origin  in  either  space  or 
time.  For  it  is  only  in  deference  to  our  ignorance  of 
the  subject  that  we  speak  of  the  child  as  possessing 
a  new  and  individual  consciousness  appearing  some- 
where between  its  conception  and  its  fifth  year,  or 
that  we  speak  of  epochs  in  terrestrial  history  in 
which  conscious  beings  did  not  exist.  And  the 
destiny  of  consciousness,  whether  implied  in  the 
death  of  an  individual  or  in  the  annihilation  of  the 
human  race,  is  equally  devoid  of  any  significance 
other  than  that  of  a  convenient  symbol. 

A  thing  which  can  have  neither  origin  nor  destiny 
in  fact,  seems  hardly  worth  discussing  as  a  thing 
apart  in  any  ulterior  sense.  The  chief  logical  con- 
ceit on  which  rests  the  supposed  ultimate  identity 
of  consciousness  may,  however,  be  recurred  to  since 
it  has  already  been  mentioned  (Chap.  II,  page  69). 
The  assertion  has  often  been  made  that  a  thing  can- 
not be  aware  of  itself,  and  this  is  doubtless  a  perfectly 
logical  statement.  But  all  empirical  evidence  and 
all  logic  point,  first  and  foremost,  to  Change  as  the 
one  and  ultimate  principle  of  the  known  and  know- 
ing universe.  And  this  principle,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  ultimately  invalidates  all  logic  and  all  empirical 
evidence  except  in  one  respect  —  in  respect  of  itself. 
Incidentally  it  denies  the  possibility  of  an  interval 
of  time  in  which  a  thing  may  be  itself  and  not  some- 


REASON  AND  WILL  273 

thing  else,  and  stipulates  that  such  a  " thing"  may 
be  aware  of  that  which  it  is  replacing  just  as  well  as 
of  anything  else.  "Just  as  well,"  be  it  observed, 
and  no  better.  And  this  "just  as  well"  means  ut- 
terly badly,  except  always  in  respect  of  Change  itself. 
It  means  far  worse  than  our  memories  appear  to 
serve  us.  For  in  the  universe  of  Change,  the  act 
of  knowing  is  no  less  illusory  than  the  known. 

This  preamble  has  been  designed  mainly  to  em- 
phasise the  ulterior  unimportance  of  any  distinc- 
tions between  Reason  and  Will.  To  whom,  indeed, 
can  it  matter  whether  it  be  Reason  or  Will  that 
impels  a  man  to  live  when  the  odds  are  heavily 
against  him?  To  whom  can  it  matter  if  volition 
be  explicable  in  terms  of  sensation  or  no  ? 

It  is  highly  doubtful  if  these  questions  will  ever 
be  mooted  by  any  more  advanced  intelligences  than 
our  own.  Amongst  us  of  to-day  they  are  clearly 
of  great  moment  only  to  those  who  have  for  sole 
reliance  a  religion  or  a  morality  —  who  are  obliged 
to  defend  this  religion  or  morality  at  all  costs  since, 
if  they  were  deprived  of  it,  they  believe  they  would 
be  utterly  at  the  mercy  of  death,  suffering,  their 
neighbours,  themselves.  To  any  who  are  not  so 
dependent  —  and  the  practical  purpose  of  this  book 
is  plainly  enough  to  add  to  their  number  —  the 
problems  of  the  reason  and  the  will  must  possess 
far  less  interest. 


274         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

Nevertheless,  these  problems  do  at  least  possess 
an  immediate  practical  importance.  With  regard 
to  immediate  posterity,  it  is  desirable  that  some 
kind  of  negative  understanding  about  them  should 
be  arrived  at:  just  such  an  understanding  as  our 
most  able  and  impassioned  moralists  and  religionists 
are  conscientiously  doing  their  utmost  to  prevent. 
This  is  readily  attainable  by  the  curious  and  candid. 

In  a  continuous  universe  it  is,  of  course,  just  as  im- 
possible that  volition  should  be  ultimately  explained 
in  terms  of  sensation  as  that  molecular  life  should 
be  so  explained  in  terms  of  atomic  life.  Nevertheless, 
so  long  as  we  continue  to  use  the  terms  in  question, 
the  common-sense  view  —  the  view  that  would 
naturally  be  taken  but  for  the  above-mentioned 
considerations  —  is  that  probably  volition  is  sym- 
bolically explicable  in  terms  of  sensation,  because 

(1)  there  is  no  evidence  that  volition  is  not  thus 
symbolically  explicable ; 

(2)  of  all  the  forms  of  mental  activity,  sensation  is 
the  most  elementary  and  the  most  obviously  present 
in  the  greatest  number  of  relations  between  the  or- 
ganic and  inorganic  worlds ;  and 

(3)  the  same  acts  often  result  from  simple  reflexes 
as  from  the  most  deliberate  or  harassed  volition. 

For  similar  reasons  —  and  this  is  the  more  im- 
portant point  —  the  common-sense  symbolical  view 
of  Reason  and  Will  is  that  they  are  one  and  the  same 
thing.     The  same  consequences  —  say,  life  or  death 


REASON  AND  WILL  275 

—  may  follow  in  any  particular  case  from  the  opera- 
tion of  either.  Suppose  a  certain  man  to  have  taken 
his  own  life;  we  cannot  say  if  Reason  or  Will  was 
responsible.  Suppose  another  man  to  be  reasoning 
over  his  own  life  or  death;  we  cannot  possibly  fore- 
tell the  issue,  even  if  we  are  as  well  acquainted  with 
the  circumstances  of  the  case  as  he  is  himself. 

Reason  may  quite  well  be  regarded  as  included 
within  Will  —  as  being,  if  you  like,  an  inferior 
though  potent  order  of  will  which,  for  example, 
impels  great  masses  of  people  to  struggle  to  preserve 
life  when,  with  the  exercise  of  a  better  will,  the  hope- 
lessness of  any  good  coming  of  the  struggle  would 
become  immediately  obvious  to  them.  Generally, 
however,  we  regard  such  a  recognition  of  hopeless- 
ness as  a  mental  process  of  putting  two  and  two 
together.  Hence  it  is  easier  to  regard  Will  as  a 
kind  of  Reason  —  a  higher  or  a  lower  kind,  as  the 
case  may  be.  There  would  then  be  a  great  many 
kinds  or  degrees  of  Reason ;  and  it  would  doubtless 
be  well  for  the  practical  philosopher  to  speak  rather 
more  cautiously  of  their  relative  values  than  has  been 
usual  in  the  past.  No  one  of  them,  ultimately, 
can  be  higher  or  lower  than  another.  Hence  (and 
for  other  reasons  that  have  been  considered  and  will 
at  once  suggest  themselves)  it  is  perfectly  unjusti- 
fiable for  the  practical  philosopher  to  bring  severely 
to  bear  upon  them  the  results  of  his  study  of  history. 
If  he  knew  all  the  history  there  was  to  be  known, 


276         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

this  would  still  be  unjustifiable.  Let  us  remember 
what  there  is  that  is  certain.  There  is  but  one  cer- 
tainty, and  to  this  certainty  history  has  indeed 
contributed,  but  in  very  slight  degree,  as  we  com- 
monly understand  the  term  history.  Other  gener- 
alisations drawn  from  history  are  not  only  theoreti- 
cally but  also  practically  worthless  except  upon  the 
assumption  that  most  other  people  have  drawn  the 
same  generalisations  and  are  prepared  to  act  accord- 
ingly. Once  a  more  interesting  basis  for  future 
action  is  provided,  the  particular  lessons  which  con- 
stitute the  so-called  generalisations  from  history 
must  go  for  naught.  Of  course,  this  may  happen  at 
any  moment ;  and  it  will  then  be  useless  to  rely  on 
the  probability  that  what  will  happen  next  year 
will  be  very  similar  to  something  that  happened 
some  four  thousand  years  ago. 

These  remarks  are  made  with  especial  reference 
to  the  so-called  will  to  live,  upon  the  general  reason- 
ableness or  unreasonableness  of  which  history  can 
pronounce  no  verdict.  In  view  of  our  one  certainty, 
it  must  be  contended  that  the  will  to  live,  even  with 
the  odds  against  happiness,  is  apparently  a  higher 
form  of  reason  in  the  individual  human  being  than 
the  will  to  die  under  the  same  circumstances,  be- 
cause the  individual  human  life  possesses  greater 
significance  than  the  individual  human  death. 
Similarly,  all  other  things  being  equal,  there  is  better 
reason  to  rescue  a  shipwrecked  crew  than  to  leave 
them  to  drown. 


REASON  AND  WILL  277 

These  propositions  suggest  many  others  which  will 
be  discussed  at  some  length  in  the  seventh  chapter. 
The  purpose  of  the  present  chapter  has  been  to  show 
the  futility  (in  the  light  of  our  earlier  investigations) 
of  any  effort  to  unseat  Reason  or  its  equivalent  as 
the  prime  motive  force  in  our  daily  life.  The  effort 
was  of  course  based  on  the  assumption  that  all 
reason  was  good  and  might  even  be  perfect  and 
sound ;  hence  it  could  not  be  reason  that  prompted 
a  man  to  drag  on  a  life  of  certain  misery.  Un- 
doubtedly such  reason  is  apparently  bad ;  but  it  is 
just  as  much  reason  as  that  which  impels  another 
man  to  live  morally,  or  as  that  which  impels  most 
men  to  set  their  own  arbitrary  limits  to  the  juris- 
diction of  reason  itself,  —  avowedly  applying  ra- 
tional methods  to  all  the  immediate  affairs  of  life, 
judging  their  neighbours  by  their  ability  for  and  per- 
sistence in  applying  such  methods,  yet  raising  each 
his  own  quaint  little  barrier  beyond  which  reason 
shall  not  be  suffered  to  tread. 

The  most  highly  rational  life  attainable  by  our- 
selves and  by  our  immediate  posterity  will  be  sketched 
under  some  of  its  most  important  heads  in  the 
seventh  chapter.  First,  however,  because  of  their 
bearing  on  such  a  life,  should  be  discussed  somewhat 
more  fully  than  hitherto  the  problem  of  dissolution, 
— dissolution  of  the  material  universe  (Chap.  V)  and 
dissolution  of  the  individual  human  life  (Chap.  VI). 


CHAPTER  V 


DEVOLUTION 


The  special  student,  as  is  well  known,  is  prone 
to  bring  severely  to  bear  upon  general  questions 
the  results,  both  positive  and  negative,  of  his  own 
particular  branch  of  research.  If  I  have  devoted 
the  better  part  of  my  life  to  music,  I  may  look  ex- 
clusively for  melodies  in  a  forest  which  is  more 
remarkable  for  the  variety  in  form  and  colour  of  the 
foliage.  If  I  am  a  lover  or  a  philanthropist,  I  shall 
very  likely  be  scornful  of  impersonal  or  of  any  but 
the  most  immediately  personal  considerations. 

Our  concern  being  for  the  moment  with  the  natural 
sciences,  we  may  observe  that  the  astronomer  is 
often  the  most  forward  in  wishing  that  the  stars  were 
either  farther  off  or  else  very  much  nearer.  And  now 
a  band  of  scientists  of  various  denominations  have 
been  showing  us  excellent  reasons  to  believe  that 
we  are  in  a  fair  way  to  be  completely  demolished 
within  a  very  short  time,  —  i.e.  within  a  few  millions 
of  years. 

It  should  be  understood  that  this  doctrine  is 
entitled  to  the  greatest  respect  by  reason  both  of  the 
considerations  that  support  it  and  of  the  varied  and 

278 


DEVOLUTION  279 

important  achievements  of  its  champions.  For  my 
part,  I  have  no  strong  objection  to  subscribing  to  it 
provisionally;  nor  shall  I  resent  being  called  silly 
or  presumptuous  for  describing  it,  as  I  instinctively 
must,  as  a  cart-before-the-horse  kind  of  doctrine. 
Our  notable  friends  and  benefactors  have  loaded  the 
cart  with  certain  weighty  packages  on  which  they 
gaze  in  fascination  and  mild  dismay.  "Gravity 
uncomprehended,"  "Space  uninhabitable,"  "Inter- 
stellar distances,"  are  some  of  the  labels  upon  this 
merchandise ;  presently,  with  a  great  heave  of  honest 
arms,  in  goes  "Energy  to  be  degraded,"  heaviest 
and  bulkiest  of  all.  When,  at  last,  somebody  thinks 
of  leading  poor  Gee-Gee  Humanity  from  his  stall, 
these  conscientious  carmen  turn  to  him  with  sad 
wistfulness  in  their  eyes.  His  steps  are  so  coltish ; 
he  is  still  so  restive  under  the  mildest  of  bits  and 
harness!  If  only  he  might  be  allowed  to  grow 
and  be  properly  broken  —  but  alack  !  not  a  moment 
is  to  be  lost  in  delivery  of  the  goods.  On  the  whole, 
it  seems  hardly  worth  while  putting  him  in  —  and 
there's  never  a  sign  of  another  nag  in  the  neighbour- 
hood! 

Yet,  in  truth,  the  future  effect  of  earthly  man 
upon  the  evolutionary  and  devolutionary  process  is 
a  problem  upon  which  no  very  satisfactory  specula- 
tion is  now  possible.  If  we  ask  ourselves,  May  we, 
when  our  sun  grows  cold,  give  him  a  knock  which 
shall  rouse  him  again  but  not  excessively  to  warmth  ? 


280         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

no  considerations  suggest  themselves  which  seem 
at  all  likely  to  throw  much  light  on  the  subject.  We 
know  that  the  only  thing  needed  would  be  a  discreet 
but  forcible  knock.  Who  or  what  shall  administer 
it  is  largely  a  matter  of  sentimental  opinion:  the 
straight  thinker  will  be  he  that  shall  have  guessed 
aright. 

Or,  in  contemplating  the  radio-active  matter  of 
our  solar  system,  we  can  hardly  prophesy  as  to  our 
chance  of  arresting  or  modifying  that  process  of 
material  decay  which,  though  promising  a  longer 
period  of  comfortable  warmth  upon  Earth,  may 
eventually  lead  to  conditions  making  impossible  any 
such  life  as  we  have  experienced  as  a  race.  It  is 
true  that  to  do  this  to  some  extent  we  have  only  to 
get  into  closer  working  touch  with  certain  relatively 
superficial  appearances  or  manifestations  of  change 
such  as  the  internal  organisation  of  an  atom  of 
matter.  To  some  it  may  seem  highly  probable 
that  this  will  be  done  in  a  comparatively  short  time ; 
but  a  single  step,  short  as  it  may  appear  when  de- 
scribed in  words,  may  be  surprisingly  long  in  the 
performance. 

Any  device  that  might  be  made  to  respond  selec- 
tively to  the  various  gravitational  pulls  to  which  it 
was  subjected,  regardless  of  their  intensity,  is  like- 
wise dependent  for  its  invention  upon  the  results 
of  further  research  into  the  constitution  of  matter. 

Finally,  since  we  have  received  neither  the  visit 


DEVOLUTION  281 

nor  the  message  of  any  inhabitants  of  Earth's  sister 
planets  or  of  the  planets  of  another  sun,  we  may 
provisionally  assume  that  these  beings,  if  any  such 
exist,  are  now  or  soon  will  be  confronting  this  same 
problem  of  the  cart  and  horse. 

It  becomes  necessary,  then,  to  contemplate  as  a 
possibility  the  eventual  destruction  of  the  human 
race;  and,  however  this  might  be  brought  about, 
it  is  inevitable  that  we  should  now  enquire  what 
might  happen  afterwards,  no  matter  how  vague  are 
the  possible  lines  of  enquiry.  For  this  purpose  we 
shall  with  advantage  keep  always  before  us  certain 
familiar  considerations  which  are  generally  absent, 
nevertheless,  from  an  enquiry,  say,  into  the  destiny 
of  politics.  One  of  these  considerations  is  our  idea, 
experimentally  gained,  of  relative  magnitudes.  We 
know  not  how  big  the  universe  may  be,  nor  if  bigness 
be  a  term  really  applicable  to  it.  But  in  considering 
any  evolutionary  or  devolutionary  catastrophe, 
such  idea  of  bigness  as  we  have  gained  is  necessarily 
to  be  taken  into  account.  Now,  relatively  to  the 
material  processes  of  the  sum  of  that  part  of  the 
universe  which  we  have  measured,  the  most  momen- 
tous events  conceivable  within  our  solar  system 
would  be  so  trivial  that  pin-pricks  and  flea-bites  upon 
the  human  body  are  utterly  inadequate  as  a  com- 
parison. We  may  be  very  important  persons,  we 
humans, — the  more  so,  the  better  from  an  evolution- 
ary point  of  view,  —  but  the  scope  of  our  activity  is 


282         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

ridiculously  small.  In  the  far-off  heavens  are  vast 
numbers  of  solar  systems  in  which  evolution  is 
certainly  going  on  under  enormously  various  local 
conditions.  In  the  regions  beyond  this  stellar 
universe  of  ours  —  which  universe  may  be  but  as  an 
atom  in  the  sum  of  things  —  there  is  no  reason  to 
believe  that  devolution  has  reached  a  stage  at  which 
it  becomes  a  menace  to  a  race  of  living  beings  such 
as  ourselves.  If  the  actual  universe  be  something 
akin  to  our  hypothetical  one-dimension  universe, 
it  is  clear  that  devolution  is  but  a  phase  of  evolution 
and  has  been  going  on  ever  since  the  beginning  of 
evolutionary  times.  At  all  events,  we  are  to  remem- 
ber that  energy,  being  measurable,  can  be  nothing 
but  an  appearance,  and  that  its  availability  or  un- 
availability can  in  no  way  affect  the  basic  process 
from  which  it  is  derived. 

Let  two  extra-terrestrial  gamblers,  knowing  no 
more  than  we  now  know  of  those  distant  heavens, 
observe  our  extinction  as  a  race  and  the  return  of 
Earth  and  her  sister  planets  to  the  cold  bosom  of 
their  mother  sun.  Only  the  offer  of  long  odds  would 
tempt  either  of  them  to  wager  that  this  sun  and  all 
its  evolutionary  records  would  never  be  inspected 
by  an  alien  race. 

Like  gamblers,  calculating  the  odds,  must  we 
approach  all  evolutionary  problems  immediate  or 
remote.  What  shall  we  say,  then,  of  the  odds  in 
this  same  problem,  stated  differently  as  follows  ? 


DEVOLUTION  283 

That  matter  and  energy  should  evolve  is  an 
evolutionary  necessity  as  well  as  an  almost  inevitable 
inference  from  the  facts  of  science. 

That  life  should  evolve  is  a  similar  necessity  and  fact. 

Life  is  now  entirely  dependent  upon  matter  and 
energy  and  inseparable  from  them.  Whether  or 
not  they  ever  existed  without  ministering  somewhere 
to  life,  whether  or  not  life  may  survive  them,  —  it  is 
at  all  events  certain  that,  within  times  of  which  we 
have  some  knowledge,  there  has  been  ceaseless  action 
and  reaction  between  life  and  its  outside  means  of 
support. 

Is  it,  then,  likely  that  the  degradation  of  matter 
and  of  energy  which  we  observe  to  be  regularly  and 
continuously  going  forward  will  eventually  render 
impossible  all  conceivable  forms  of  life  ?  Or  is  this 
process  more  probably  coeval  with  modifications, 
palpable  and  potential,  of  life  itself  which  will  in 
time  result  in  a  life  incapable  of  being  supported 
upon  turnips  and  potatoes,  blankets  and  hot-water 
bottles,  though  able  to  flourish  upon  their  degraded 
substitutes  ? 

The  more  closely  we  examine,  from  the  evolution- 
ary point  of  view,  this  problem  of  the  destiny  of  life 
in  general,  the  more  surely  may  we  predict  that, 
though  there  is  not  nor  ever  will  be  any  evolutionary 
argument  to  convince,  the  probabilities  of  the  case 
will,  from  age  to  age,  lead  our  hereditary  thought 
ever  farther  from  the  idea  of  extinction. 


284         THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

When  we  mount  to  the  ultra-evolutionary  lookout, 
we  penetrate  to  a  different  atmosphere.  We  find, 
indeed,  that  much  of  the  detail  of  our  road  of  destiny 
has  faded  from  view:  sticks  and  stones,  ruts  and 
mire  seem  not  to  be  there,  nor  the  spring  by  the  way- 
side; but  we  have  no  longer  to  judge  by  the  few 
uncertain  rods  that  lie  under  our  very  noses,  since 
from  here  we  may  follow  its  true  course  from  horizon 
back  to  horizon.  The  general  character  of  this 
prospect  has  already  been  described:  let  us  take 
another  look. 

From  this  seeming  pin-point  of  an  Earth  goes 
forth  each  instant  a  complete  potential  copy  of  the 
immensely  various  things  within  it.  All  things 
outside  receive  the  impression  which  then  awaits  but 
the  developing  hand  of  time.  But  what  is  this  de- 
veloping hand  of  time  ?  We  have  seen  it  to  be  other 
impressions:  new  experience  combined  with  old. 
Any  point  in  time  represents  or  equals  the  sum  of  ex- 
perience ;  any  later  point  in  time  again  equals  the  sum 
of  experience ;  the  interval  between  these  two  points 
in  time  equals  the  difference  in  experience ;  the  last 
moment  of  time  equals  all  time,  equals  all  experience ; 
the  first  moment  of  time  equals  the  least  experience. 
We  of  to-day  embody  more  time  than  did  our  ances- 
tors. Our  experience  is  therefore  more  rapid,  al- 
though the  evolutionary  character  of  this  experience 
may  prevent  us  from  becoming  aware  of  this  gain  in 
speed.    Similarly,  the  degraded  matter  of  our  planet 


DEVOLUTION  285 

will  embody  more  experience  than  the  nebular  mat- 
ter from  which  it  was  presumably  derived.  Suppose 
the  matter  contained  within  our  solar  system  to  have 
formed  part  of  an  earlier  system  somewhere  within 
which  was  developed  a  race  of  evolutionary  rational 
creatures  like  ourselves.  Could  we  inspect  these 
creatures  and  their  activities,  they  might  conceivably 
appear  to  us  to  have  attained  a  higher  degree  of 
civilisation  than  would  seem  likely  ever  to  be  attained 
upon  our  Earth.  Their  evolutionary  opportunities 
may  have  been  greater  or  their  racial  life  longer. 
Though  unable  or  unwilling  to  avert  their  material 
doom,  they  may  nevertheless  have  had  good  reason 
to  believe  that  their  local  successors  would  be  another 
hybrid  race  and  inferior  to  themselves ;  that  the  two 
successive  civilisations  would  be  like  the  blossoming 
of  a  tree  in  two  successive  springs,  the  later  blossoms 
being  less  full  than  the  earlier,  the  tree  itself  destined 
to  give  place  to  others.  But  no  considerations  that 
may  have  brought  them  to  this  conclusion  can  have 
disposed  them  to  melancholy,  any  more  than  we  may 
ourselves  be  thoughtfully  so  disposed  by  the  dis- 
appearance of  a  variety  of  fine  birds. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    RATIONAL   VIEW   OF   DEATH 

Therefore  I  confess  I  do  not  greatly  care  whether 
our  race  escapes  the  doom  of  its  mother  Earth  or  not. 
We  have  most  of  us  been  brought  to  the  verge  of 
individual  suicide  at  one  time  or  another,  and  un- 
doubtedly the  being  brought  to  the  verge  is  the 
painful  thing.  It  is  unlikely  that  anything  worse  is 
in  store  for  posterity  on  this  score.  Indeed  there  is 
every  reason  to  believe  that  earthly  posterity  will 
have  ever  fewer  emotional  concerns  over  the  fate  of 
the  race  as  a  whole  and  of  its  individual  units,  at  the 
same  time  that  it  develops  a  greater  intellectual 
interest  in  both  questions;  for  an  increasing  in- 
difference to  death  could  not  be  supposed  to  make 
other  than  reasoned  suicides  more  common,  whilst 
the  decline  in  force  of  the  emotional  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  and  in  frequency  of  the  opportunities  of 
presuming  upon  this  instinct  in  others  would  imply 
increased  advantages  of  energy,  time,  and  oppor- 
tunity for  investigating  the  more  really  interesting 
problems  of  life.  To  posterity  death  cannot  be  the 
same  death  that  it  is  to  us;  if  sufficient  time  is 
vouchsafed  to  this  posterity  upon  Earth,  death  will 

286 


A  RATIONAL  VIEW  OF   DEATH         287 

come  to  mean  a  new  life  the  fulness  of  which,  in  its 
individual  character,  is  —  for  pain  or  for  pleasure  — ■ 
inversely  as  the  fulness  of  the  old .  That  our  descend- 
ants will  in  reality  be  living  faster  than  ourselves 
is  theoretically  clear;  and  it  seems  probable,  so  far 
as  we  can  forecast  the  physical  conditions  of  their 
life,  that  they  will  also  be  more  active  and  alert  in 
dealing  with  appearances.  The  advantage  to  us  of 
to-day  of  speculating  upon  the  considerations  that 
would  weigh  with  them  in  individual  cases  in  favour 
of  a  tranquil  suicide,  or  of  a  prolongation  of  their 
actual  life,  or  in  their  choice  of  occupations  is  a 
point  that  will  be  taken  up  in  the  chapters  to  follow. 
Meanwhile,  however,  a  few  general  conceptions  may 
be  stated. 

We  may  conceive  certain  of  our  descendants  as 
busily  engaged  in  the  construction  of  a  machine  for 
navigating  space  which  interests  them  to  some 
extent  as  a  means  of  transporting  the  human  race 
from  their  old  abode,  but  more  immediately  as  a 
mechanism  and  as  the  vehicle  of  a  novel  expedition 
of  discovery. 

Again,  we  may  conceive  the  navigators  of  space  as 
trying  to  discover,  amongst  other  things,  if  the  time 
be  ripe  and  the  means  adequate  for  the  definitive 
removal  of  themselves  and  their  fellows  from  Earth, 
or  if  the  time-honoured  method  of  translation  shall, 
in  sum,  be  more  suitable. 

Again,    we    may    conceive    them    as    weighing 


288        THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

the  rival  advantages  of  different  manners  of  race 
suicide. 

Although  gaiety  is  a  frame  of  mind  that  seems 
hardly  to  be  associated  with  the  last  and  best  of 
knowers,  it  is  probable  that  our  earthly  descendants 
of  the  next  few  millions  of  years,  provided  they  have 
nothing  but  themselves  to  fear,  will  take  an  in- 
creasingly brighter  view  of  life  at  the  expense  of  the 
more  intense  transitions  from  sorrow  to  joy.  When 
the  theoretical  absurdity  of  the  scruples  of  conscience 
and  of  the  fear  of  death  has  had  time  to  become 
one  of  the  omnipresent  determinants  of  intellectual 
characteristics  handed  down  from  father  to  son,  the 
race  will  indeed  be  deprived  of  some  of  the  fierce  joy 
that  follows  the  release  from  terror  as  well  as  of  the 
generous  glow  of  altruism,  but  will,  on  the  other 
hand,  be  more  equably  gladdened  by  the  perception 
of  its  gradual  emancipation  from  the  tyranny  of 
lugubrious  prepossessions.  It  should,  however,  be 
frankly  admitted  that  the  implied  brightness  of 
temper,  though  inevitably  to  be  predicated  of  our 
eventual  universal  successors,  might,  in  the  case  of 
our  terrestrial  descendants,  be  seriously  interfered 
with  by  influences  which  we  have  now  no  means  of 
measuring.  For  example,  devolution  may  con- 
ceivably contain  some  cosmical  catastrophe  which 
would  affect  a  root-eating  humanity  most  grievously. 
But  if,  for  a  considerable  space,  posterity  has  little 


A  RATIONAL  VIEW  OF   DEATH         289 

to  fear  but  itself,  it  should  assuredly  gain  in  gaiety 
as  it  loses  in  opportunities  of  bliss. 

So  are  we  led  back  to  the  question  of  pains  and 
pleasures  past  and  to  come,  which  may  here  be 
examined  in  an  aspect  somewhat  less  general  than  in 
the  course  of  our  earlier  enquiries.  To  this  end,  let 
me  first  ask :  if  I  die  this  day,  what  next  ? 

So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  anything  that  happens 
must  happen  at  once ;  for,  though  this  happening  be 
the  equivalent  of  a  billion  terrestrial  years  off,  it 
must  constitute,  in  my  individual  experience,  the 
very  next  moment  of  time. 

But  what,  now,  is  this  individual  experience? 
What  am  I  that  am  dead  ? 

For  one  thing,  a  bundle  of  brains,  nerves,  blood, 
and  bones,  the  essence  of  which  will  go  on  with  its 
characteristic  activities  and  eventually  be  gathered 
in  by  the  knowing. 

And  what  else  am  I  ? 

Clearly  the  thinking  feature  of  these  brains  cannot 
depart  from  their  other  features  and  shift  for  itself. 
Such  an  emanation  could  have  nothing  in  common 
with  my  earlier  thought,  all  of  whose  memories, 
comparisons,  inferences,  consisted  in  the  relation  of 
new  universal  effects  to  that  resultant  of  past  effects 
called  life.  My  thought  was  not  ultimate  thought; 
such  as  it  was,  it  belonged  to  life.  Each  memory  of 
mine  was  derived  from  a  life-sensation ;  and  the  only 


290        THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

being  that  might  singly  prolong  these  memories 
after  my  death  and  so  preserve  my  identity  apart 
from  life  would  be  one  that  was  associated  in  some 
way  with  my  living  thought  yet  was  not  wholly 
dependent  upon  life-  or  matter-sensations  for  its 
own  thought. 

Upon  a  moment's  consideration  it  becomes  clear 
that  such  a  being  cannot  exist:  in  other  words, 
that  my  ultra-evolutionary  self  cannot  be  indepen- 
dent of  my  evolutionary  self.  When  I  recognised, 
during  life,  the  necessity  of  continuous  and  universal 
change,  my  ultra-evolutionary  self  was  in  evidence 
through  my  evolutionary  self.  That  is  to  say,  I  had 
derived  an  ultra-evolutionary  conception  from  the 
memory  and  comparison  of  evolutionary  impressions. 
Each  of  these  impressions  was  faulty,  incomplete. 
According  to  the  particular  sense-organ  receiving  it, 
it  appeared  to  be  definite,  perfect ;  but  the  memory 
of  it,  when  compared  with  the  memory  of  a  conflicting 
impression,  demonstrated  the  imperfection  of  both 
impressions.  The  similarly  demonstrated  imperfec- 
tion of  all  impressions,  however  axiomatic,  revealed 
the  necessity  that  the  processes  manifesting  them- 
selves in  evolutionary  phenomena  were  only  partially 
—  i.e.  symbolically  —  apprehensible  to  an  evolu- 
tionary being.  Since,  then,  all  the  evolutionary  pro- 
cesses that  occasioned  my  impressions  were  merely 
symbolical  combinations  of  ultra-evolutionary  pro- 
cesses and  in  no  way  distinct  from  them,  it  is  in- 


A  RATIONAL  VIEW  OF   DEATH         291 

conceivable  that,  after  death,  the  ultra-evolutionary 
self  should  be  separated  from  the  evolutionary. 
The  acquirement  of  ultra-evolutionary  ideas  which 
shall  dissipate  strictly  evolutionary  ideas  consists 
in  the  continuous  and  cumulative  modification  of 
evolutionary  by  other  ultra-evolutionary  processes 
up  to  that  hypothetical  point,  never  to  be  reached 
in  evolutionary  times,  at  which  the  ultimate  factors 
in  the  evolutionary  processes  are  all  obvious.  In 
one-dimensional  terms,  when  stable  groups  of  centre- 
changes  have  given  sufficiently  varied  entertainment 
to  one  another's  straying  migrants,  the  possibilities 
of  centre-change  existence  will  be  exhausted,  and 
centre-changes  must  dissolve  in  favour  of  new  alli- 
ances in  respect  of  which  our  geometrical  concepts 
together  with  our  discussion  of  the  spatial  necessity 
illustrated  in  Figure  16  will  be  irrelevant. 

When  my  heart  has  ceased  to  beat  there  is,  thus, 
a  complete  absence  of  data  for  the  existence  of  any- 
thing, now  or  but  lately  inside  my  body,  which  should 
be  contemporaneous  with  and  similar  to  the  existence 
of  my  living  successors  upon  Earth.  My  body,  as 
has  been  observed,  will  be  undergoing  processes 
different  in  appearance  from  those  which  were  called 
life ;  but  there  neither  is  within  nor  comes  from  out  this 
body  any  representative  of  my  living  identity.  I  am 
extremely  dead  —  dead  as  a  door-nail.    What  next  ? 

If  any  of  my  survivors  have  still  patience  to  hear 
me  preaching  from  my  grave,  they  will  hardly  expect 


292         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

my  promise  to  join  them  presently  in  the  form  of  a 
bird  or  a  cat  or  to  thrill  their  great-grandchildren 
as  the  hero  dogged  by  a  mysterious  second  person- 
ality. Such  definite  and  picturesque  reincarnations 
are  no  longer  to  be  seriously  considered  even  by 
deluded  and  bewildered  man,  who  may  nevertheless 
be  compensated  in  other  ways. 

The  delusions  and  bewilderment  of  man  suggest 
another  aspect  of  the  case. 

What,  indeed,  was  I  when  alive  ? 

I  was  indeed  an  idiot  of  the  first  water  or  perhaps, 
rather,  a  lunatic  with  rare  intervals  of  semi-lucidity. 
Not  only  did  I  hold,  unmoved,  the  universe  within 
my  palm,  but  in  the  immediate  affairs  of  life  of  which 
I  might  have  gained  some  useful  understanding  I 
behaved  almost  invariably  like  a  blind  and  maddened 
beast.  Only  in  death  may  be  appraised  the  tiresome 
incompleteness  of  such  a  thing  as  I.  Nay,  my  good 
respectable  Self-respect,  when  all's  said  and  done,  I 
do  not  answer.  Let  others  speak  for  themselves; 
I,  at  least,  do  not  suffice.  I  am  quite  meaningless, 
inconceivable,  save  as  a  beginning  or,  say,  an  ele- 
mentary stage.  Dead,  am  I  ?  Finished  ?  Or  what 
shall  be  said  of  this  unfinished  me  ? 

The  necessity  of  an  existence  to  follow  terrestrial 
death  is  thus  as  patent  in  the  emotional  aspect  of  the 
case  as  in  the  theoretical  or  the  logical :  there  is  no 
honest  process  of  thought  that  fails,  in  the  end,  to 
bring  home  to  us  the  slight  significance  of  death. 


A  RATIONAL  VIEW  OF   DEATH         293 

As  to  the  particulars  of  the  relation  between  the 
post-mortem  existence  and  the  ante-mortem,  it  is 
of  course  impossible  to  say  much  that  is  satisfactory. 
That  upon  each  of  our  individual  dead  begins  at  once 
the  process  of  gathering  by  the  knowing  is  necessarily 
true.  But  the  nature  and  intensity  of  the  earliest 
post-mortem  consciousness ;  the  rapidity  with  which 
this  consciousness  is  developed;  the  manner  of  the 
eventual  modification  of  terrestrial  characteristics; 
the  rapidity  with  which,  and  the  circumstances  under 
which,  separate  terrestrial  identities  become  merged ; 
the  extent  to  which  the  process  of  gathering  will  be 
carried  within  evolutionary  times,  —  upon  all  these 
questions  any  speculation  must  be  largely  sentimen- 
tal in  character.  It  seems  highly  probable  that  the 
process  of  gathering  has  always  been  in  operation 
and  is  steadily  gaining  in  pace ;  that  all  our  dead  are 
now  conscious  —  so  dimly  conscious,  as  we  should 
say,  that  the  centuries  speed  over  their  heads  like 
seconds ;  i.e.  they  are  living  more  slowly  than  we. 

When  we  examine  an  amoeba,  we  resuscitate  in 
some  degree  all  amoebae ;  and  we  regard  this  as  about 
the  finest  thing  that  has  ever  happened  to  amoebae  — ■ 
to  become  the  subject  of  our  scientific  thought. 
The  late  amoebae,  to  be  patients,  must  be  agents  as 
well.  In  symbolical  one-dimensional  terms,  the 
rotations  originally  set  up  by  their  migrants  are  still 
going  on  within  us.  In  such  wise  must  we  ourselves, 
our  loves  and  our  politics,  eventually  be  brought 
under  the  ultra-evolutionary  microscope. 


294         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

We  have  seen  that,  when  I  die,  my  future  existence 
is  to  be  looked  for  anywhere  rather  than  within  ray 
body  or  in  any  emanation  from  my  body.  If  my 
son  experiences  a  desire  similar  to  what  I  should  have 
experienced  under  similar  circumstances  and  modified 
according  to  the  difference  in  these  circumstances, 
there  am  I  alive  again.  If  it  is  truly  similar,  it  is 
mine  just  as  much  as  his;  and  even  if  it  is  very 
different,  it  is  in  some  respect  a  bit  of  myself.  If  a 
stranger  to  my  earthly  self  is  informed  of  something 
that  I  said  in  life  and  in  consequence  gains  a  con- 
ception which  he  proceeds  to  modify  in  some  such 
way  as  I  should,  under  the  new  circumstances, 
modify  it,  there  am  I  again. 

Such  "  reproduction  "  of  the  individual  life  may,  as 
we  all  know,  assume  considerable  proportions  before 
the  death  of  the  individual,  so  that  a  man  may,  as  it 
were,  absorb  a  considerable  portion  of  his  own  fam- 
ily, community,  or  nation.  Whether  it  may  ever, 
at  our  present  early  stage  of  development,  amount 
to  a  highly  varied  existence  either  before  or  after 
the  death  of  the  individual,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say.  Doubtless,  in  most  instances  it  would  not; 
for  the  dissemination  of  the  individual  identity  is 
deprived  of  obviousness  by  the  inevitable  grossness 
of  illusion  that  belongs  to  our  position  in  time.  It 
would,  at  all  events,  be  strikingly  similar  in  its  par- 
tial and  apparent  character  to  that  individual  life 
which  is  avowedly  distinguished  by  each  of  us  as 


A  RATIONAL  VIEW   OF   DEATH         295 

his  own.  Furthermore,  it  would  be  new,  and  each 
phase  of  it  would  be  soon  over  in  proportion  to 
its  tenuity;  i.e.  rarity  of  incident  would  mean  the 
degradation  of  consciousness. 

Obviously  suggestive  in  its  bearing  on  the  life  to 
come  is  the  well-known  principle  governing  the 
alternation  of  pain  and  pleasure.  I  believe  there  are 
very  few  persons  impervious  to  the  conception  that 
pain  and  pleasure,  like  egoism  and  altruism,  exist 
only  in  virtue  of  their  apparent  mutual  opposition. 
That  pain  of  some  kind  invariably  follows  upon  the 
termination  of  any  kind  of  pleasure;  that  pleasure 
invariably  follows  the  release  from  pain;  that  the 
pleasure  of  gratifying  an  appetite  implies  the  pre- 
cedent pain  of  the  appetite  ungratified;  that  the 
pleasure  of  altruism  is  the  sequel  of  a  distressed 
sympathy;  that  the  pleasure  in  an  idea  depends 
upon  the  pain  inherent  in  the  dearth  of  ideas ;  that  a 
continuous  succession  of  pleasurable  sensations,  if 
sufficiently  prolonged,  becomes  unpleasurable ;  that 
pain,  if  maintained  at  a  certain  level  for  a  suffi- 
cient period,  is  forgotten  until  its  cause  is  pleas- 
urably  removed ;  that  nobody  can  so  long  lead  a 
monotonous  life  with  satisfaction  as  one  who  has 
previously  been  the  victim  of  much  pain  and  sor- 
row; that 'no  pain  or  pleasure  is  so  great  that  it 
may  not  be  indefinitely  mitigated  by  the  effort 
of  a  mind  appropriately  constituted  and  trained, 
—  all  these    propositions    seem    always    to    have 


296         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

been  very  generally  agreed  to  by  the  most  widely 
different  minds.  Doubtless  the  extremes  of  pain 
and  pleasure  have  moved  apart  and  will  close  up 
again  in  the  course  of  evolutionary  history  even  as 
a  stable  group  may  rise  and  decline  in  stability. 
However  this  may  be,  we  have  always  to  take 
account  of  the  vast  numbers  of  our  fellow-men  who 
are  flatly  and  inevitably  suffering  physical  and 
moral  anguish  in  a  degree  that  drives  them  to  drink, 
to  madness,  and  to  despairing  suicide.  It  is  by  no 
means  their  fault  that  their  minds  are  not  appropri- 
ately constituted  and  trained  for  successfully  com- 
bating their  sufferings,  since  but  few  of  their  more 
accomplished  brethren  have  this  power  in  any 
considerable  degree.  So  long,  moreover,  as  they 
are  permitted  to  be  born  and  to  live  with  the  odds  so 
heavily  against  them,  the  utmost  that  may  ever  be 
done  for  them  upon  Earth  is  little  indeed  as  com- 
pared with  that  which  must  be  left  undone. 

It  is  unnecessary  here  to  consider  in  detail  the 
psychological  aspect  of  this  apparent  injustice. 
Whatever  may  be  the  degree  of,  and  the  relations 
between,  the  enormously  various  alternations  of 
pain  with  pleasure,  we  can  hardly  escape  the  con- 
viction that  certain  members  of  any  generation  are 
very  much  more  miserable  in  the  sum  of  their  lives 
than  are  the  others.  But  that  these  present  unfortu- 
nates must  be  compensated  in  full  measure  under  the 
rule  of  destiny  is  an  obvious  necessity.     For  the 


A  RATIONAL   VIEW  OF   DEATH         297 

identity  of  their  own  suffering  selves  and  of  those  of 
their  children  and  of  others  who  suffer  after  them 
cannot  be  lost  but  must,  after  death,  enter  upon  an 
existence  in  which  the  pleasure  of  release  and  of  the 
progress  in  knowledge  or  control  of  pain  is  pro- 
portionate to  the  degree  of  their  sufferings  upon 
Earth.  Things  will  delight  them  to  which  their 
less  suffering  contemporaries  will  be  indifferent. 
Conversely,  any  approach  to  satiety,  whether  of 
body  or  of  mind,  upon  Earth  means  inevitably  a 
slower  and  more  embarrassed  existence  for  some 
time  after  death.  Let  us  briefly  consider  another 
aspect  of  our  case. 

"Those  good  old  days  when  we  were  so  unhappy" 
lose  much  of  their  retrospective  charm  when  we  face 
what  looks  like  the  necessity  of  living  them  over  and 
over  again  to  infinity.  If  always,  when  all  possible 
knowledge  resolves  itself  into  the  least  possible 
knowledge,  there  begins  the  inevitable  succession  of 
all  possible  manifestations  of  Change,  how  am  I  ever 
to  escape  from  that  wretched  moment  in  my  earthly 
past  which,  but  for  the  hope  of  putting  it  definitely 
behind  me,  would  have  made  of  all  things  a  real  and 
perfect  hell  ?  Am  I  not  instead  to  go  through  with 
it  an  infinite  number  of  times?  And  if  it  is  to  be 
multiplied  to  infinity,  what  more  of  existence  can  I 
have  outside  of  it  ? 

This  is  logic  —  and,  on  the  face  of  it,  sheer  non- 
sense.   Had  we  no  means  of  assailing  it  from  without, 


298         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

we  still  might  flatly  repudiate  it  because  of  its  in- 
ternal implications.  But  the  keystone  of  this 
phantasmal  structure  juts  boldly  out  on  either  side 
for  fears  and  hopes  innumerable  to  hang  upon  it. 

To  traders,  fighters,  and  law-givers,  the  word 
"again"  is  still  available,  even  indispensable;  but  in 
the  revised  dictionary  of  a  continuous  universe  we 
might  as  well  look  for  "triped."  That  wretched 
moment  of  mine  was  indeed  full  of  wretchedness, 
and  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  relief  attending  my 
emergence  from  it  or  again  from  its  consequences. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  was  in  itself  wretched,  and 
that  I  put  it  behind  me  with  an  act  of  self-denial  or  a 
crime  or  a  suicide.  But  then  to  suppose  that  I 
might  ever  add  to  the  wretchedness  of  it  in  any  way 
would  be  equivalent  to  supposing  that  I  might  dupli- 
cate myself  by  producing  another  self  which,  if  it  was 
indeed  a  self,  would  after  all  turn  out  to  be  not 
another  self  but  the  same  old  self.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  in  the  present  consideration  of  my  wretched 
moment,  the  apparent  menace  contained  in  the  terms 
"again"  and  "another"  refers  to  the  ultimate  or 
cosmical  implications  of  this  moment,  not  merely  to 
its  evolutionary  implications.  This  moment,  then, 
or  my  wretchedness  of  this  moment,  is  a  definite 
apparent  entity  inimitable,  unreproducible.  It  em- 
bodies the  sum  of  certain  experience  or,  in  equivalent 
phrase,  a  moment  of  time.  That  it  should  be 
augmented  with  more  experience,   or  reproduced 


A  RATIONAL  VIEW  OF  DEATH         299 

with  the  lapse  of  more  time,  is  manifestly  unthink- 
able. 

Such  is  the  theoretical  —  i.e.  the  real  and  indubi- 
table —  necessity  of  the  case.  But  we  may  never 
forget  that,  though  ultimately  we  are  knowers, 
immediately  we  are  livers ;  and  it  would  be  rash  to 
suppose  that  this  "again,"  doomed  as  a  word,  dying 
as  an  idea,  will  quietly  and  painlessly  relinquish  its 
hold  on  evolutionary  thought,  or  that  it  will  ever  be 
quite  dead  in  evolutionary  times.  As  to  its  ultimate 
implications,  phantasmal  though  they  be,  there  is 
even  a  kind  of  appropriateness  in  the  instinctive 
apprehensiveness  of  living  beings  who,  like  ourselves, 
are  still  so  crudely  constructed  as  to  be  liable  at  any 
moment  to  outbursts  of  predatory  and  homicidal 
fury,  lest  the  consequences  of  their  acts  be  visited 
upon  them  over  and  over  again.  Some  of  us, 
again,  may  like  to  think  that  we  can  eat  our  cake 
and  have  it  too.  If,  for  example,  you  are  a  passion- 
ate poet,  you  may  rejoice  that  your  most  blissful 
agonies  are  not  disappearing  for  ever  in  favour  of  a 
milk-and-water  existence  whose  only  pain  lies  in 
ignorance  of  the  number  of  sands  of  the  sea  and 
whose  only  pleasure  lies  in  counting  them.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  you  are  down  on  your  luck,  you  may 
reflect  that  the  fuller  existence,  in  which  luck  counts 
for  nothing,  will  be  far  longer  in  the  living;  that 
time  —  or  experience  —  is  cumulative ;  that  the  last 
moment  of  time  will  contain  all  the  earlier  moments. 


300         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

In  general  we  may  be  glad  that  we  have  none 
of  us  to  dread  either  the  diet  of  red  peppers  or  of 
sweet  biscuits.  A  single  incident  in  the  supposi- 
tional course  of  sustained  happiness  may  be  vividly 
conceived  and  powerfully  executed  by  a  painter ;  but 
the  moment  the  kinematograph  is  mentioned,  the 
picture  must  be  given  another  name.  And  all  our 
names  will  successively  be  rubbed  out  as  we  go  on 
improving  our  kinematographs.  Therefore  he  who 
proposes  to  treat  of  even  the  most  theoretical  con- 
siderations in  words  must  expect  an  advanced 
posterity  to  be  rather  amused  over  his  performance ; 
and  any  attempt  at  dignity  will  only  heighten  the 
ridicule.  But  when  we  encounter  one  of  those  bands 
of  theorists,  now  so  numerous  and  various,  who  speak 
of  God  as  the  all-knowing,  all-pervading,  self-suffi- 
cient constituent  of  the  oneness  of  things,  we  have 
no  business  to  laugh  as  if  it  were  the  best  joke  out. 
Neither  we  nor  they  may  know  just  what  they  mean 
by  this ;  but  the  probability  is  strong  that  the  basic 
influence  which  manifests  itself  thus  curiously  is 
one  that  will  eventually  make  havoc  of  our  tradi- 
tional verbal  tidiness.  And  those  others  who 
decline  to  look  at  any  proposition  not  properly 
constructed  of  subject,  predicate,  and  copula  will 
scarce  be  heard  of. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IMMEDIATE    IMPLICATIONS   OF   A   RATIONAL 
VIEW    OF    DEATH 

On  all  sides  we  may  witness  the  curious  spectacle 
of  educated  men  devoid  of  religion  (as  a  working 
force)  and  of  philosophy  (save  of  the  kind  called 
practical)  legislating  for  us,  condemning  or  acquitting 
us,  teaching  us  the  meaning  of  citizenship,  organising 
and  conducting  our  charities.  I  write  of  those  who 
are  regarded  as  well  meaning  or  tolerably  dis- 
interested ;  for  they  must  work  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  another  class  of  men  whose  political,  educa- 
tional, and  philanthropic  projects  are  undertaken 
more  strictly  in  the  interest  of  self-advancement. 
The  ambitions  of  this  latter  class,  futile  though 
they  be  and  bringing  no  satisfaction  with  success, 
are  more  readily  intelligible  because  of  the  ease 
with  which  they  may  be  referred  to  the  primal 
instincts  of  animal  man. 

The  former  class,  armed  solely  with  morality, 
have  the  presumption  to  swing  this  clumsy  weapon 
about  our  ears  and  in  its  name  enlist  us  in  the  work 
of  interfering  with  our  own  chosen  pursuits.  For  it 
is  to  be  observed  that  morality  is  indeed  a  weapon, 

301 


302         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF   CHANGE 

not  a  revered  idol  or  beloved  symbol.  Preeminent 
above  all  our  time-honoured  illusions  by  virtue  of  its 
intensely  practical  nature,  it  is  to  be  seen  solemnly 
hewing  and  carving  amongst  all  those  daily  concerns 
of  ours  which  we  habitually  regard  as  the  solid  facts 
of  life,  deny  them  though  we  must  upon  each  second 
glance. 

The  achievements,  or  rather  the  single  achieve- 
ment, of  so  crude  a  weapon  wielded  persistently 
against  a  race  that  has  shown  a  tendency  towards 
increased  complexity  as  illustrated  in  the  transition 
from  ape  to  European  were  easily  to  be  foreseen. 
Upon  the  objects  of  its  attack  it  has  accomplished 
absolutely  nothing,  but  has  left  off  with  each  genera- 
tion where  it  left  off  with  a  preceding  one.  In 
different  climates  and  in  different  centuries  it  looks 
different  to  the  eye,  but  wherever  it  has  been  at 
work  the  sole  practical  outcome  of  this  work  has 
been  the  gradual  blunting  of  its  own  edge.  When 
reason  confers  a  benefit,  morality  does  indeed  some- 
times get  the  credit,  or  perhaps  we  are  assured  that 
reason  after  all  belongs  to  morality ;  when  morality 
fails,  a  scapegoat  is  generally  ready  to  hand.  For 
morality,  at  its  bluntest,  is  even  now  a  tremendous 
force,  not  lightly  to  be  impugned.  The  source  of 
its  influence  is  not  far  to  seek. 

Those  who  have  read  my  first  two  chapters  will 
readily  acquit  me  of  any  desire  to  show  specifically 
the  points  in  common  and  the  lines  of  divergence  of 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  303 

religion  and  morality.  In  the  next  chapter  will  be 
found  a  well-known  definition  of  religion  in  the  most 
general  terms ;  but  I  have  no  wish  here  to  take  up  the 
part  played  in  either  religion  or  morality  by  the 
reverence  for  ancestors,  love  of  kin,  love  of  woman, 
love  of  wine,  sun,  or  moon.  I  merely  wish  to  state 
explicitly  what  we  have  all  learned  from  our  own 
hearts  and  our  histories,  and  what  is  inevitably  to  be 
inferred  from  the  earlier  considerations  of  this  book : 
that  what  has  made  morality  a  tremendous  force  in 
the  world  is  the  fear  of  death  and  hell  —  ay,  even 
among  those  who  scoff  at  fire  and  brimstone  —  and 
the  hope  of  an  impossible  heaven.  Nay,  the  very 
mainspring  of  all  morality  is  the  impulse  to  preserve 
each  individual  being  from  suffering,  death,  or  the 
loss  of  its  soul. 

Obviously  this  is  as  worldly  and  irrational  a 
doctrine  as  any  other ;  it  takes  account  of  time,  yet 
attaches  supreme  importance  to  a  life  whose  dura- 
tion, as  compared  with  known  periods  of  time,  is  of 
the  tiniest  significance.  And  even  if  we  ignore  this 
curious  limitation  and  take  the  supreme  importance 
of  the  individual  human  life  for  granted,  we  soon  find 
(as  in  the  course  of  our  investigation  in  Chapter  II) 
not  only  that  this  most  practical  doctrine  of  morality 
has  never  had  any  practical  consummation  in  the 
past,  but  that  it  cannot  conceivably  have  any  such 
consummation  in  the  future.  By  any,  therefore, 
who  may  adopt  even  as  rational  a  view  as  is  now 


304         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

attainable  of  death  and  the  derived  bugbears  of 
suffering  and  hereafter,  morality  must  be  set  down 
as  an  illusion  of  inferior  caliber:  one  which  may 
already  be  treated  as  an  anachronism  and  confidently 
opposed  with  word  and  deed.  In  consequence, 
the  efforts  of  those  disinterested  legislators,  jurists, 
and  philanthropists  mentioned  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter  must  be  regarded  as  necessarily  barren 
of  benefits  to  the  race. 

Confess,  reader,  as  you  look  about  you  with  candid 
and  wide-open  eyes,  that  philosophy  is  now  the 
prime  need  of  adult  man,  life  itself  being  a  secondary 
consideration.  And  parents,  seize  you  the  first 
opportunity  to  teach  your  growing  children  that  a 
fact  cannot  be  stated.  If  they  then  accuse  you  of 
doing  what  you  proclaim  to  be  impossible,  you  will 
show  them  that  the  more  specific  the  statement, 
the  lower  its  value ;  that  your  first  statement  has  the 
highest  value  of  all.  For  religion  can  no  longer  be 
believed  in,  and  morality  is  in  a  similar  case,  though 
even  worse  off,  for  we  do  not  like  it,  we  never  have 
liked  it,  and  we  never  can  like  it. 

I  propose  now  briefly  to  sketch  the  manner  of  life 
of  a  race  whose  intellectual  and  political  leaders, 
at  least,  should  take  a  tolerably  rational  view  of 
death:  a  view  which  denies  to  death  any  special 
importance  of  its  own  as  a  thing  to  be  fearfully 
shunned  or  imperiously  courted. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  305 

Certain  celebrated  and  important  problems  of 
civilisation  will  not  be  considered  because  the 
amount  of  detail  necessarily  involved  in  such  con- 
siderations would  be  disproportionate  to  the  im- 
portance of  their  inclusion  in  a  sketch  of  this  nature 
—  the  more  so,  as  the  general  bearing  upon  these 
problems  of  the  principles  of  conduct  here  to  be 
defined  will  be  perfectly  clear.  Thus,  neither 
property  nor  government  will  receive  a  separate 
consideration,  although  it  will  be  seen  that  these  two 
institutions,  now  so  complex  in  character  that  moral- 
ity itself  might  unaided  work  very  radical  rearrange- 
ments in  them,  would  soon,  under  the  more  rational 
regime,  be  classed  among  the  simplest  and  least 
engrossing  of  all  problems. 

Instead  will  be  chosen  for  consideration  a  few  of 
our  most  elementary  concerns  in  which  morality 
must  always  remain  powerless  to  effect  any  lasting 
modification.  I  shall  point  out  how  the  race  in 
question  would  deal  with  its  drunkards,  amorists, 
liars,  brawlers,  invalids.  And  as  the  test  case,  to  be 
treated  at  greatest  length,  I  shall  select  that  of  the 
drunkards,  both  because  alcoholism  is  one  of  the 
most  important  elementary  problems  in  the  countries 
in  which  I  have  lived  and  travelled,  and  because  it 
is  in  itself  well  suited  to  the  purpose  in  hand. 

Unbiassed  reformers  of  our  present  generation  and 
of  all  times  known  to  history  —  unbiassed,  i.e.,  by 


306        THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

any  strong  personal  inclination  to  drink  —  have 
generally  tried  to  dissuade  their  fellows  from  drink- 
ing, and  especially  have  they  tried  to  remove  oppor- 
tunities for  drinking  from  the  paths  of  men  who  have 
made  of  drinking  their  chief  concern  in  life. 

Now,  of  the  hypothetical  race  to  be  brought  under 
discussion,  I  assume  that  it  is  in  all  respects  similar 
to  our  own  save  in  the  more  rational  view  of  death 
taken  by  its  political  and  intellectual  governors.  I 
assume,  for  example,  that  it  is  composed,  in  respect 
of  alcoholism,  roughly  of  three  classes  of  families, 
clans,  or  subdivisions  of  the  race :  (1)  families  who 
have  for  generations  been  temperate  or  abstemious ; 
(2)  families  who,  in  the  main  temperate,  have  nev- 
ertheless at  intervals  or  through  intermarriage  or 
through  the  exceptional  environment  of  an  individ- 
ual or  generation,  produced  intemperate  indi- 
viduals; and  (3)  families  who,  though  notoriously 
intemperate,  have,  either  in  the  natural  course  of 
heredity  or  through  the  imposition  of  artificial  re- 
straint, produced  temperate  or  abstemious  individ- 
uals. It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  logical  class  (4), 
the  opposite  of  (1)  —  families  invariably  intemperate 
—  or  anything  nearly  approaching  it,  could  not  exist. 
I  likewise  assume  that  the  governors  of  this  race, 
whether  the  few  or  the  many,  are  generally  con- 
vinced that,  so  long  as  the  race  continues  to  exist 
under  conditions  at  all  similar  to  those  actually 
obtaining,  alcoholic  beverages  will  continue  to  be 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  307 

made  and  will  at  times  be  accessible  to  any  whose 
desire  for  them  is  sufficiently  great ;  that  the  project 
of  controlling  the  production  and  distribution  of 
spirits  so  that  in  all  times  of  peace  or  strife  they 
should  be  available  only  for  medicinal  and  mechanical 
purposes  is  too  chimerical  to  be  worthy  of  serious 
consideration. 

In  the  laws  of  such  a  race  —  if  written  laws  there 
could  be  —  it  would  undoubtedly  be  accounted 
something  like  a  misdemeanour  to  withhold  from 
the  drunkard  his  cup.  The  more  congenial  were  a 
young  man's  first  experiments  in  intoxication,  the 
more  studiously  would  he  be  provided  with  occasions 
for  pursuing  them.  The  intemperate  husband  who 
should  find  in  his  wife  a  ready  imitator  would  be 
seconded  in  his  efforts  to  reduce  her  to  his  own 
condition  of  servitude.  The  forcing  of  wine  down 
an  unwilling  throat  on  the  plea  of  friendship,  respect, 
or  common  hopes  would  be  regarded  as  presumably 
futile  and  certainly  barbarous.  But  every  adult 
man  and  woman  would  be  encouraged  to  pass 
seriously  the  test  of  alcohol ;  and  those  who  should 
decline  to  do  so  would  be  regarded  as  suspicious 
characters,  inferior  in  the  social  scale  to  those  who 
should  pass  from  this  test  to  a  drunkard's  grave. 
Even  as  the  drunkard  would  not  be  suffered  to  ply 
the  unwilling  drinker  with  liquor,  so  would  he  be 
prevented  as  far  as  possible  from  working  any  other 
injury  to  his  family  or  his  fellows.     Upon  the  first 


308         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

hint  of  mischievous  intent,  he  would  be  confined 
either  by  himself  or  in  a  colony  of  drunkards  to 
whom  spirits  would  be  supplied  either  through  their 
own  means  or  by  the  state  or  by  philanthropic 
individuals. 

In  the  life  of  any  race,  otherwise  like  our  own, 
that  adopted  this  attitude  towards  alcoholism, 
three  processes  already  known  to  us  in  theory  and 
probably  in  actual  operation  in  our  midst  would  at 
once  acquire  a  vastly  greater  scope  and  a  proportion- 
ally higher  velocity.  They  might,  and  doubtless 
would,  be  to  some  extent  mutually  exclusive;  how 
far  they  would  so  overlap  is  of  no  great  moment  in 
this  discussion,  the  purpose  of  which  is  to  show  that 
the  outcome  of  their  unhampered  operation,  given 
sufficient  time,  would  be  the  complete  elimination 
of  alcoholism  as  a  factor  in  the  racial  life,  and  that 
the  greater  their  scope  and  velocity,  the  more  rapidly 
would  alcoholism  decline  in  importance. 

(1)  Everybody  would  realise  that  upon  his  own 
unaided  efforts  would  depend  the  outcome  of  any 
conflict,  actual  or  problematical,  between  his  other 
aims  and  the  desire  to  drink.  Supposing  this  conflict 
already  to  exist,  he  would  know  that  society,  far 
from  being  ready  to  pull  him  up  at  critical  moments 
and  give  him  a  fresh  start,  would  take  the  opposite 
course  and  try  to  remove  all  hindrances  to  his 
inebriety  save  only  his  own  unwillingness  to  drink. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  responsibility  of  this 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  309 

kind,  rarely  and  imperfectly  as  it  has  been  realised 
in  practice  under  our  own  civilisation,  has  been  the 
making  of  many  a  man,  nor  that  the  self-control 
derivable  from  it  may,  according  to  any  possible 
theory  of  heredity,  appear  and  reappear  in  successive 
generations  as  an  active  foe  of  alcoholism.  In  the 
case  of  our  hypothetical  society  which  thrusts  this 
responsibility  upon  all  its  members,  the  general  inter- 
action of  minds  and  the  force  of  bright  example  must 
greatly  increase  the  working  value  of  self-control  in 
many  individuals. 

(2)  We  have  now  to  consider  the  results  of  that 
interaction  of  minds  which  is  very  generally  in 
operation  under  the  actual  regime  of  morality. 
The  demon  of  drink  is  painted  by  our  reformers  in 
the  most  lurid  colours:  its  guile  is  voluptuously 
satanic;  its  retribution  swift  and  awful.  On  one 
side,  the  joyous  carouse,  the  god-like  intoxication; 
on  the  other,  the  poverty-stricken  home,  the  deserted 
wife,  the  criminal's  cell,  —  this  pictorial  antithesis 
is  familiar  to  all  who  belong  to  a  bibulous  nation. 
Amongst  people  of  means  and  education  the  con- 
trast is,  of  course,  not  so  vividly  drawn ;  nevertheless 
the  youth  of  average  unsophistication  goes  out  into 
the  world  feeling  that  a  monster  lies  there  in  wait 
for  him  —  a  monster  whose  fascinations  should 
indeed  be  proved,  but  whose  cruelties  should  be 
anticipated  and  avoided  with  the  utmost  agility. 
Knowledge  of  this  creature  is  often  dearly  bought, 


310         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

the  knowledge  itself  being  of  so  flimsy  a  nature. 
For  —  though  it  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  work  to 
assign  any  value,  however  provisional,  to  the  power 
called  suggestion  —  it  must  be  admitted  that  only  a 
man  of  exceptionally  strong  mind  can,  in  the  business 
of  drinking,  give  fancy  and  curiosity  free  play  with- 
out coming  repeatedly  under  the  shadow  of  those 
lugubrious  possibilities  which,  if  he  belongs  to  a 
drinking  nation,  he  has  always  been  taught  to 
associate  with  this  practice.  A  more  submissive 
fellow  will  look  for  a  reaction  to  follow  his  first  glass 
of  the  day  and  will  thus  explain  the  first  physical  or 
mental  depression  of  the  afternoon.  Though  his 
experience  warn  him  that  the  second  glass  is  less 
palatable  and  exhilarating  than  the  first,  this  ex- 
perience may  count  as  nothing  against  the  time-hon- 
oured dogma  that  liquor  demands  more  liquor.  If 
he  finds  that  he  cannot  comfortably  lead  a  tippling 
life,  he  may  decide  that  night-long  indulgence  fol- 
lowed by  week-long  abstinence  is  the  most  satisfac- 
tory compromise  possible  with  this  exacting  slave- 
driver  :  a  compromise  which,  as  we  have  all  observed, 
does  not  generally  remain  long  in  force. 

Everywhere  may  we  see  wine-lovers,  still  sound  of 
nerve  and  body,  executing  various  fantastic  steps  in 
obedience  to  the  dreaded  whip ;  and  as  their  liquor 
gets  the  upper  hand  of  them,  the  dance  grows  faster 
and  more  hysterical,  the  doctor  aiding  the  disease 
as  if  such  a  spectacle  could  not  be  too  far  prolonged. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  311 

Meanwhile  science  stands  by,  cool  and  canny, 
applauding  feebly  from  time  to  time;  for  she  has 
told  us  that  more  than  a  certain  insignificant  amount 
of  alcohol  may  not  be  consumed  daily  by  the  healthy 
human  body  without  leaving  its  unmistakable  and 
demonstrable  marks  upon  nerves  and  tissues,  and 
that  to  enquire  if  these  inroads  into  nerves  and 
tissues  might  be  the  price  paid  for  general  and  signifi- 
cant benefits  would  probably  be  futile  and  certainly 
inexpedient. 

With  the  hypothetical  race  under  discussion,  it  is 
clear  that  no  such  emotional  considerations  as  have 
here  been  mentioned  could  weigh  in  the  scale  of 
individual  choice.  The  influence  necessarily  exerted 
by  a  rational  view  of  death  upon  personal  affections 
and  ties  of  blood  will  presently  be  discussed,  even 
though  it  may  appear  to  all  readers  immediately 
obvious.  For  the  moment  it  is  sufficient  to  point 
out  that  under  such  a  regime  alcohol  could  hold  out 
neither  the  attractions  of  forbidden  fruit  nor  the 
terrors  of  an  inexorable  master.  The  fruit,  instead 
of  being  forbidden,  would  be  prescribed ;  if  it  should 
prove  harmful,  relief  from  its  consequences  would 
be  ready  to  hand.  Drunkenness  would  be  regarded 
seriously,  as  a  foe  to  be  despised  and  removed ;  not 
solemnly,  as  a  foe  to  be  dreaded  and  abused.  Drunk- 
enness would  be  a  loathsome  vice  for  which  the  con- 
firmed drunkard  could  no  longer  be  held  respon- 
sible.   One  who  should  decline  to  pass  the  test  of 


312         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

alcohol  would  also  be  held  free  from  responsibility 
for  his  act,  which  nevertheless  —  containing,  as  it 
would  do,  a  menace  to  the  future  welfare  of  society  — 
would  stamp  its  author  as  a  backward  member  of 
the  race  and  inferior  to  the  drunkard  in  the  social 
scale.  Hence  those  who  become  addicted  to  alco- 
holism through  resistance  to  the  opposition  of  society 
or  through  a  superstitious  awe  of  the  power  of  alcohol 
must  rapidly  decline  in  numerical  and  social  impor- 
tance. 

(3)  The  third  process  in  the  life  of  our  hypothetical 
race  that  would  be  greatly  accelerated  by  the  adop- 
tion of  a  rational  attitude  towards  alcoholism  is 
readily  to  be  divined;  and  to  those  who  regard 
alcoholism  as,  above  all,  a  disease  of  the  body 
subject  in  but  slight  degree  or  rarely  to  intellectual 
and  moral  influences,  this  process  will  be  deemed 
by  far  the  most  important.  It  may  be  termed  the 
elimination  through  natural  means  of  those  indi- 
viduals, families  or  subdivisions  of  the  race  who,  in 
respect  of  alcoholism,  have  shown  themselves  least 
fitted  to  be  factors  in  the  posterity  of  the  race. 

When  the  constitutional  or  incurable  drunkard  is 
given  a  free  hand,  —  is  hindered  by  neither  poverty 
nor  police,  —  he  will  speedily  destroy  himself.  If, 
at  the  outset  or  in  the  middle  of  his  downward 
career,  he  were  able  to  secure  a  wife  and  beget 
children,  —  which,  as  we  shall  see,  would  soon  come 
to  be  an  unheard-of  occurrence  in  our  hypothetical 


IMMEDIATE  IMPLICATIONS  313 

society,  —  these  children  or  their  children  or  grand- 
children would  sooner  or  later  find  the  odds  heavily 
against  the  persistence  of  their  stock :  they  would  be 
objects  of  special  suspicion,  and  no  pains  would  be 
spared  to  demonstrate  their  fitness  or  unfitness  as 
parents.  Hence  wine-lovers  whose  self-control  or 
whose  reasonableness  of  temper  should  be  inadequate 
to  keep  them  from  excess  would  gradually  disappear 
from  posterity,  whilst  dipsomaniacal  outbreaks  of 
whole  sections  of  the  race  would  be  unknown. 
The  theory  that  this  process  has  already  been  long 
in  operation  despite  the  formidable  obstacles  it  has 
everywhere  had  to  encounter,  and  that  its  results 
are  both  important  and  conspicuous  upon  Earth 
to-day,  will  not  here  be  considered.  Our  hypotheti- 
cal race  removes  all  obstacles;  this  being  the  case, 
any  known  or  conceivable  theory  of  heredity  must 
include  the  eventual  elimination  of  new  possibilities 
of  alcoholism.  Strictly  speaking,  alcoholism  would 
be  transmitted  to  posterity  only  as  an  obsolete  illu- 
sion steadily  to  decline  in  importance  relatively  to 
the  sum  of  experience ;  not  as  a  factor  in  posterity 
able  to  hold  its  own  with  other  factors  by  virtue  of 
the  cumulative  results  of  its  renascence  in  generation 
after  generation. 

On  the  other  hand,  no  theory  of  heredity  could  of 
itself  include  the  elimination  of  alcohol.  Wine  is 
enjoyed  by  so  many  people  that  there  must  of  course 
be  virtue  in  it:    alcoholism  rationally  dealt  with 


314         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

means  the  elimination  from  posterity  of  all  but  those 
to  whom  alcohol  is  distasteful  or  immediately  in- 
jurious and  those  who  gain  substantial  benefit  from 
its  use. 

It  is  quite  in  consonance  with  the  principle  of 
continuity  that  nature  herself  should  point  unmis- 
takably to  the  cure  of  alcoholism.  The  death  of  the 
consistent  drunkard  is  the  best  part  of  his  life. 
It  is  painless  and  so  conspicuously  free  from  the  fear 
and  remorse  that  beset  many  another  death-bed  as 
even  to  suggest  alcoholism  as  a  tolerably  scientific 
means  to  suicide ;  whereas  the  drunkard's  efforts  to 
regain  his  sobriety  are  invariably  attended  with  the 
most  cruel  hallucinations  of  horror  or  remorse  — 
hardly  a  suitable  legacy  to  be  passed  vainly  on 
through  hundreds  of  generations  of  creatures  calling 
themselves  rational. 

Before  enquiring  how  posterity  would  get  on,  with 
all  potential  drunkards  eliminated,  or  how  the 
different  classes  of  our  actual  society  might  regard  a 
growing  disposition  in  their  midst  to  adopt  the 
immoral  attitude  towards  alcoholism  that  has  been 
outlined  above,  let  us  briefly  consider  the  rational 
and  immoral  method  of  dealing  with  some  of  our 
other  elementary  problems. 

By  amorists  I  mean  the  whole  race  of  human 
males  and  females:  women  presumably  by  virtue 
of   their   essential    impulse    towards    motherhood; 


IMMEDIATE  IMPLICATIONS  315 

men  presumably  because  women  have  always — by 
their  self-imposed  isolation  and  separate  develop- 
ment and  by  innumerable  devices  of  modesty  and 
coquetry  varying  according  to  the  circumstances  of 
the  age  —  appealed  to  their  curiosity  and  so  brought 
them  to  serve  their  purpose.  Whether  the  above 
is  a  good  statement  of  the  case  is  here  a  matter  of  no 
great  consequence.  If  it  is  indeed  a  good  state- 
ment anthropologically,  there  has  always  been 
reason  in  the  sexual  relation  just  as  much  —  or  just 
as  little,  if  you  regard  reason  as  already  an  obsolete 
term  in  every  sense  —  as  in  the  will  to  live  or  in  the 
mutual  attraction  of  Sun,  Moon,  and  Earth.  If 
some  other  statement  is  a  better  one,  you  will  still 
find  the  same  kind  of  reason  in  the  relation  described. 
The  point  here  to  be  observed  is  that  there  exists 
generally  a  mutual  attraction  between  the  sexes. 
Exceptions  to  the  rule,  being  rare  and  rather  dubious, 
will  not  here  be  considered. 

Now,  a  rational  view  of  death,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  must  affect  in  many  interesting  ways  the  lives 
of  them  who  adopt  it.  For  one  thing,  freedom  of 
intercourse  would  in  our  hypothetical  society  be 
greatly  increased,  for  social  reserve  must  inevitably 
appear  ridiculous.  The  average  man  would  know  a 
hundred  women  better  at  the  end  of  an  hour's 
acquaintance  than  he  now  knows  ten  after  a  life- 
time of  friendship.  No  secret  would  be  made  of 
physical  characteristics  that  were  deemed  significant. 


316         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

Woman  might  indeed  be  put  to  it  to  preserve  her 
supposedly  needful  isolation  except  for  the  fact  that 
increased  freedom  of  intercourse  would  vouchsafe 
to  more  men,  each  his  particular  and  inexplicable 
mystery  of  love  —  the  love  that  is  inevitably  to  be 
taken  for  granted  in  any  consideration  of  our  human 
race. 

Moreover,  in  a  society  that  should  confidently 
regard  posterity  as  one  of  its  most  intimate  posses- 
sions, it  is  inconceivable  that  considerations  of 
property  or  of  class,  as  we  now  understand  them, 
should  limit  the  choice  of  a  mate. 

None  of  the  systems  of  human  breeding  such  as 
have  hitherto  generally  prevailed  in  our  aristocracies, 
our  bourgeoisies,  our  proletariats,  have  furnished  us 
with  any  very  interesting  or  conclusive  data  for 
future  use.  Science,  unlike  morality,  has  not  been 
suffered  to  interfere  systematically  in  many  of  our 
elementary  human  activities,  least  of  all  in  this  one ; 
hence,  though  a  number  of  negative  conclusions 
have  been  recorded,  it  has  been  difficult  to  say 
anything  at  all  definite  as  to  the  comparative  physical 
or  mental  characteristics  in  the  two  parents  which 
make  for  a  promising  offspring.  In  default  of  any 
evidence  to  the  contrary,  I  venture  to  affirm  that 
in  my  hypothetical  society  more  generally  than  in  the 
actual  world  would  the  mating  of  men  with  women 
be  governed  by  love.  If  love  be  described  as  a  man's 
unexplained  preference,  momentary  or  enduring,  for 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  317 

whatever  lie  knows  or  divines  of  the  body  and  mind 
of  some  particular  woman  above  all  other  women 
known,  remembered,  or  dreamt  of,  I  must  deny  that 
it  is  ever  altogether  absent  from  the  most  egoistic 
and  brutal  of  conquests.  In  the  matings  that  I 
have  in  mind,  love  would  not  be  at  its  minimum, 
but  would  be  both  powerful  and  resourceful;  and 
it  seems  to  me  highly  probable  that  the  evolutionary 
secret  of  an  active  and  progressive  posterity  would  be 
discovered  if  love  were  no  longer  fettered  by  social 
reserve,  cupidity,  prudery,  snobbery,  and  the  rest. 

How  many  women  might  be  loved  successively 
by  a  single  man  is  a  question  upon  which  no  satis- 
factory speculation  seems  possible.  Probably  a 
very  large  proportion  of  the  race  would  be  monoga- 
mous, not  on  emotional  or  moral  grounds  but  from 
inclination.  For,  howsoever  we  describe  the  motive, 
—  whether  as  love,  curiosity,  lust,  or  an  impulse 
to  propagate  one's  kind,  in  any  of  which  the  rational 
basis  is  as  indefinable  as  it  is  indubitable,  —  the 
effect  of  a  consciously  rational  attitude  toward  life 
must  be  to  increase  the  opportunities  of  congenial 
mating.  In  the  actual  world  there  are  very  many 
men  who  would  not  give  up  their  wives  if  they  could 
after  a  year  or  twenty  years  of  life  together.  In  our 
hypothetical  world  compatibility  between  mates 
would  far  oftener  be  realised.  Far  oftener  would  a 
man  be  enabled  to  meet  and  mate  with  a  woman  of 
suitable  age,  similar  conjugal  aims,  and  different 


318         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

temper.  A  free  and  active  spirit  demanding  much  of 
life  would  more  often  emerge  from  any  narrow  circle 
whose  resources  he  had  early  exploited  and  take  to 
himself  a  woman  whose  antecedents  were  entirely 
different  from  his  own.  But  few,  of  course,  —  and 
those  the  most  idle  and  backward,  —  would  regard 
as  suitable  any  such  matches  as  are  now  so  regarded 
by  our  moral,  social,  commercial,  and  insular 
Philistinism.  Northern  people  would  mate  with 
Southern;  Eastern  with  Western.  She  who  was 
especially  suited  to  child-bearing  would  be  sought, 
and  with  good  chance  of  success,  by  him  who  should 
bid  fair  to  be  a  normal  father.  Conspicuous  abnor- 
malities of  all  kinds  would  be  left  to  themselves  or  to 
one  another.  The  Casaubons  and  the  Hedda  Gablers 
would  mate  with  one  another  or  not  at  all,  for  nobody 
else  would  want  them ;  the  Neros  and  —  their 
female  counterparts,  who  have  never  been  suffi- 
ciently interesting  to  achieve  a  crystalline  celebrity 
in  polite  history  or  verse,  although  we  all  know  them 
in  actual  life.  Amorists,  in  sum,  like  drunkards  and 
abstainers  from  drink,  would  as  far  as  possible  do  as 
they  liked,  not  as  they  thought  dutiful  or  expedient. 

From  the  above  considerations  of  alcoholism  and 
the  sexual  relation  may  readily  be  derived  the 
general  attitude  of  a  rational  regime  toward  all 
eccentricities  of  temper  that  would  obviously  hinder 
the  efforts  of  posterity  to  benefit  thoroughly  by  the 
new  experience  within  its  reach. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  319 

By  liars,  as  by  amorists,  might  well  be  understood 
the  actual  human  race.  The  possibility  of  many  liars 
in  our  hypothetical  society  is  of  course  extremely 
dubious ;  we  may  note,  however,  the  position  occu- 
pied in  such  a  society  by  those  individuals  whose 
mendacity  is  habitual  and  not  necessarily  connected 
with  any  motive  of  material  gain.  This  kind  of  liar, 
whether  deceiving  others  as  to  questions  of  fact  or 
himself  as  to  questions  of  principles,  is  above  all  a 
talker,  for  he  cannot  believe  what  others  say  and  so 
cannot  listen  with  interest.  But  he  could  not  gain 
the  ear  of  any  who  feared  neither  death  nor  suffering, 
and  such  would  be  the  political  and  social  leaders 
of  the  rational  regime.  Hence  he  would  be  out  of  it, 
not  wanted  —  instead  of  being  in  great  demand  as  at 
present.  He  must  then  either  disappear  from  the 
race  or  else  turn  thinker  and  listener  as  well  as 
talker,  and  so  cease  to  lie. 

Brawlers  —  those  who  delight  in  using  their  fists 
in  a  little  fight  or  their  minds  in  planning  a  big  one  — 
would  not  be  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  whole 
Earth,  but  would  be  given  a  liberal  portion  of  the 
lands  and  seas  in  which  to  pursue  their  chosen  career. 
They  could  not,  of  course,  decline  the  gift  without 
appearing  ridiculous  in  their  own  eyes.  When 
separated  thus  from  the  peaceably  minded,  it  is 
possible  that  they  would  suddenly  find  their  occupa- 
tion gone ;  otherwise  they  could  get  up  wars  between 


320         THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

ideal  armies  composed  entirely  of  true  fighting  men. 
In  either  case,  the  police  which  should  keep  them 
within  limits  would  probably  not  long  be  needed. 
Returning  warriors  would  people  all  our  golf  links 
where  they  would  doubtless  find  dormy  four  as 
stimulating  a  problem  as  the  conquest  of  a  rock 
fortress. 

Invalids,  again,  would  be  allowed  to  do  exactly 
as  they  liked  provided  their  acts  did  not  clearly 
endanger  the  welfare  of  posterity.  In  certain  cases, 
doubtless,  efforts  would  be  made  to  keep  them  from 
suicide.  Or,  if  their  sufferings  or  impotence  were 
thought  to  be  disproportionate  to  the  probable 
advantages  upon  Earth  of  their  ultimate  release  or 
restoration  to  health,  they  would  be  given  every 
encouragement  to  suicide  even  to  the  point  of  being 
socially  neglected.  The  same  rule  —  which  amounts 
to  the  absence  of  all  but  the  most  necessary  rules  — 
would  be  followed  in  the  case  of  the  aged.  By  the 
natural  consequences  of  their  incompetence  some 
would  be  driven  to  suicide  at  fifty,  others  perhaps 
not  till  ninety.  Eventually,  doubtless,  nobody 
would  die  a  natural  death  as  we  now  understand  it, 
because  others  would  be  trying  to  lead  a  natural 
life. 

The  foregoing  sketch  of  the  attitude  towards 
certain  practical  problems  of  life  to  be  derived  from 
a  rational  view  of  death  makes  no  pretension   to 


IMMEDIATE  IMPLICATIONS  321 

accuracy  of  detail.  Certain  contingencies  have  been 
supposed  which  would  probably  never  arise ;  others, 
certain  to  arise,  could  not  now  be  foreseen.  Hence 
the  omission  of  the  problems  of  property  and 
government.  It  is  obvious  that,  under  the  rational 
regime,  these  two  problems  would  be  of  the  simplest, 
for  there  could  be  no  disputes  over  ownership  or 
leadership.  It  is  equally  clear  that  they  are  now 
of  the  most  complex.  To  demonstrate  the  character 
of  the  transition  would  be  beyond  the  power  of  any 
man,  and  to  represent,  however  roughly,  any  of  its 
stages  seems  beyond  the  province  of  this  work. 

What  I  now  wish  to  point  out  is 

(1)  that  this  hypothetical  society,  or  something 
essentially  like  it,  is  possible  upon  Earth ; 

(2)  that  it  would  not  be  a  kind  of  rational  millen- 
nium; 

(3)  that,  far  as  it  is  from  either  millennial  or 
impossible,  it  is  not  to  be  had  for  the  asking. 

(1)  In  the  first  place,  a  view  of  death  sufficiently 
rational  to  admit  of  the  attitude  toward  life  described 
above  is  perfectly  feasible:  the  grounds  for  it  have 
been  provided  in  this  work.  It  is  perfectly  possible 
to  improve  upon  that  rational  error  which  has  been 
called  the  will  to  live  in  the  face  of  certain  misery, 
for  many  have  done  this,  dying  without  despair. 
And  if  individuals  scattered  through  the  centuries 


322         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF   CHANGE 

have  done  this,  we  can  place  no  limit  to  the  number 
that  may  do  it  in  unison.  Theoretically,  moreover, 
we  must  regard  as  accessible  to  the  mass  of  mankind  a 
conception  which  is  inevitably  to  be  perfected  by  the 
universal  descendants  or  knowing  cousins  of  man- 
kind, —  provided  nothing  prohibitive  of  such  a 
conception  pertain  to  the  home  of  mankind.  But 
death  takes  place  upon  Earth.  Hence  it  may  be 
viewed  by  the  inhabitants  of  Earth  in  a  manner 
indefinitely  more  rational  so  long  as  Earth  remains 
habitable.  A  sufficient  number  of  experiences  in 
which  the  idea  of  death  should  be  implicit  would  lead 
to  a  perfect  conception  of  death ;  and  the'  net  results 
of  growing  experience,  however  imperfect,  must  be 
improving  conceptions. 

In  the  foregoing  sketch,  a  certain  attitude  was 
described  as  "rational  and  immoral";  which  was 
only  a  brief  and  convenient  manner  of  speaking. 
Morality  is,  of  course,  a  rational  system  and  a  crude 
one  in  the  eyes  of  them  who  perceive  that  the  grow- 
ing experience  of  its  authors  has  reached  a  point  — 
or  is  soon  to  reach  it  —  at  which  the  view  of  death 
enforced  by  moral  syllogisms  must  be  abandoned  if 
the  race  is  to  have  further  experience  as  a  race. 
Since  the  growth  of  cosmic  experience  cannot  be 
checked,  the  alternative  thus  presents  itself:  dis- 
appearance either  of  morality  or  of  the  race  that 
invented  it.  And  since  the  race  has  already  pro- 
duced a  goodly  number  of  individuals  who  have 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  323 

dispensed  with  morality  in  theory  and  have  practised 
it,  if  at  all,  only  for  convenience  or  to  be  able  the 
better  to  attack  it,  the  issue  of  the  dilemma  seems 
not  difficult  to  predict. 

Some,  doubtless,  would  prefer  to  regard  what  I 
have  called  the  disappearance  of  morality  as  the 
evolution  of  morality  and  would  like  the  code 
embodying  any  new  rules  of  conduct  to  be  called  a 
new  morality.  Theoretical  justification  of  the  most 
roundabout  kind  could  perhaps  be  found  for  these 
terms,  to  say  nothing  of  the  question  of  expediency. 
Evolution  of  reason  would,  to  my  mind,  be  a  more 
suitable  term :  morality  being  the  older  manifestation 
of  reason;  the  new  manifestation  differing  from  it 
in  the  most  important  practical  points. 

The  bearing  of  this  evolution  of  reason  upon  the 
bonds  of  affection  and  friendship  as  well  as  upon  all 
" humanitarian"  considerations  is  obvious  enough 
and  demands  no  detailed  discussion.  The  interested 
reader  will  probably  do  exactly  as  I  have  done  myself. 
I  have  conjured  up  instances  of  the  operation  of 
reason  in  my  hypothetical  society  at  which  I  have 
fairly  sickened.  But  so  have  I  sickened  at  the 
knowledge  that  a  surgeon's  knife  was  buried  deep  in 
the  body  of  a  friend  in  the  next  room.  Less  sick, 
though,  was  I  than  they  who  regarded  the  surgeon's 
knife  as  a  useless  and  cruel  implement. 

No  rational  mother  could  wish  to  reclaim  her  son 
from  drunkenness  by  artificial  means.    If  he  had 


324         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

shown  himself  unselfish  and  lovable  save  for  this 
weakness,  she  would  carry  an  unsullied  image  of  him 
down  to  posterity ;  for  she  could  not  wish  this  image 
to  bear  the  stain  of  a  bad  example,  nor  the  age-long 
existence  of  them  both  to  be  marred  by  a  few  years 
of  eccentric  and  unsatisfying  indulgence.  "Till 
death  us  do  part"  is  a  phrase  that  could  not  be 
used  to  express  the  limit  to  any  relations  existing 
in  our  hypothetical  society,  death  being  indeed  no 
more  than  an  anaesthetic  —  an  incident  of  the  op- 
eration that  sooner  or  later  becomes  necessary 
for  the  renovation  of  all  human  relations. 

To  consider,  now,  another  aspect  of  the  possibility 
of  this  society : 

If  we  suppose  (as  the  extreme  case)  that  the 
human  race  should  come  suddenly  under  the  domina- 
tion of  a  rational  party ;  that  no  potential  drunkards 
should  develop  either  a  victorious  self-control  or  a 
wholesome  scorn  of  the  power  of  alcohol;  that 
drunkards,  morbid  amorists,  habitual  liars,  constitu- 
tional brawlers,  and  confirmed  invalids  alike  should 
die  without  issue,  —  there  would  still  remain  a 
human  race;  for  we  all  know  plenty  of  men  and 
women  innocent  of  these  or  any  other  eccentricities 
in  which  governors  so  meagrely  equipped  with 
knowledge  as  our  rational  party  would  presume  to 
interfere. 

In  time,  probably,  the  numbers  of  the  race  would 
be  immensely  and  deliberately  reduced.    This  is 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  325 

frankly  guesswork;  for  man's  increased  knowledge 
of  and  power  over  his  surroundings  might  conceiv- 
ably bring  about  conditions  of  life  under  which  it 
would  be  possible  and  highly  desirable  for  the  race 
to  multiply  even  beyond  its  present  proportions. 
But,  under  any  conditions  that  may  now  be  pre- 
dicted, humanity  would  doubtless  be  better  off  if  it 
should  count  only  as  many  thousands  —  perhaps 
hundreds  —  as  it  now  does  millions.  It  could  then 
live  a  far  more  complex  and  varied  life  by  virtue  of 
the  removal  of  those  cumbrous  institutions  whose 
complexity  is  now  the  despair  of  us  all,  none  of  us 
pretending  that  a  study  of  them  is  even  stimulating 
to  the  mind,  since  they  are  all  based  upon  the  crudest 
and  most  obvious  illusions. 

I  shall  not  attempt  a  detailed  survey  of  the  contrac- 
tion of  our  uncongenial  activities  and  the  expansion 
of  the  congenial  ones  that  would  follow  upon  the 
adoption  of  a  rational  view  of  death.  A  few  of  the 
more  important  heads  may,  however,  be  enumerated. 

There  could  be  no  armies,  navies,  or  churches; 
of  lawyers,  politicians,  bankers,  merchants,  few  if 
any ;  no  diplomatists ;  fewer  doctors  proportionally 
than  now.  The  production  of  corn  and  other  articles 
of  food  would  be  somewhat  less  per  capita  than  now, 
since  waste  could  be  more  easily  avoided.  The 
relative  production  of  steel  would  be  immensely 
less  because  the  railway  mileage,  the  vessel  tonnage, 
and  the  number  of  steel  buildings  would  be  less  in 


326         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

proportion  to  the  population,1  to  say  nothing  of 
arms  and  armour.  Coal-mining  would  be  the 
affair  of  a  few  weeks  in  each  year,  and  the  production 
of  gold,  silver,  and  precious  stones  could  be  discontin- 
ued for  centuries  at  a  time.  Important  economies 
of  labour  could  be  effected  in  the  production  of 
cotton,  linen,  wool,  leather,  and  silk;  and  the 
demand  for  wines,  spirits,  tobacco,  opium,  and 
similar  products  would  be  greatly  reduced.  The 
drudgery  of  life,  physical  and  mental,  must  in  conse- 
quence be  very  much  less  than  it  is  to-day,  and 
nobody  would  escape  his  share  of  it.  Doubtless, 
one  who  should  be  preeminently  good  with  his 
hands  or  his  arms  would  prefer  weaving  or  spinning, 
or  even  hewing  or  digging,  to  singing  or  watching  the 
stars  or  doing  nothing,  —  we  cannot  comprehend  the 
awfulness  of  doing  nothing  unless  we  realise  that  it 
means  not  even  doing  anything  vicious,  —  and  such 
a  one  would  probably  find  musicians  and  astronomers 
eagerly  awaiting  him  at  the  employment  bureau. 

1  The  railway  mileage  and  vessel  tonnage  would  be  relatively 
less  because  ships  and  railways  would  not  be  maintained  for 
purely  commercial  purposes,  whilst  corn,  beef,  steel,  coal,  etc., 
would  not  need  to  be  transported  enormous  distances  from  the 
places  where  they  were  produced.  Moreover,  it  would  not  be 
necessary  to  become  a  desultory  tourist  for  want  of  something 
better  to  do.  The  contracted  human  race  would  be  settled  in 
regions  each  of  which  produced  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
necessaries  of  the  age,  and  with  ample  means  of  communication 
for  any  who  wished  to  travel.  There  could  be  no  such  conges- 
tion in  cities  as  at  present  nor,  consequently,  the  need  of  steel 
buildings  in  a  region  where  iron  was  not  plentiful. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  327 

Some  of  the  most  brilliant  and  potentially  useful 
men  are  now  seen  as  free  lances  in  the  fields  of 
literature  and  the  fine  arts,  either  because  their 
rebellious  tempers  compel  them  to  distrust  more 
orthodox  methods  or  because  irregular  habits  or 
lack  of  persistence  unfit  them  for  steady  work.  The 
producing  power  of  such  men  must  be  far  greater 
in  our  hypothetical  society,  for  nobody  could  wish  to 
make  their  rebelliousness  the  cause  of  their  down- 
fall, whilst  they  would  themselves  be  freer  from  the 
obsession  of  original  sin  which  now  so  often  causes 
irregular  habits  or  lack  of  persistence  to  end  in  stulti- 
fying vice. 

In  sum,  the  members  of  a  race  that  is  purged  of  its 
cowards,  brawlers,  drunkards,  and  the  like  must 
inevitably  be  freer  to  devote  themselves  to  pursuits 
which  are  not  distastefully  obvious  to  all  and  to 
follow  each  his  individual  tastes:  to  be  farmers, 
gardeners,  mechanics,  inventors,  sailors,  fishermen, 
sportsmen,  teachers,  scientists,  philosophers,  poets, 
musicians,  builders,  painters,  sculptors,  and  still 
have  time  enough  for  their  own  cooking  and  washing. 
The  most  stupendous  joke  of  modern  times  is  the 
cumbrous  machinery  of  our  civilisation,  Aha!  No 
satire  has  begun  to  do  it  justice.  But  when  you  stop 
to  think  that  you  are  part  and  parcel  of  it  all,  you 
must  laugh  out  of  the  other  corner  of  your  mouth, 
Ah'm!  We  shall  presently  consider  some  of  its 
solemn  disadvantages.     Meanwhile  — 


328         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

(2)  Some  readers  may  think  it  odd  of  me  to  be  at 
pains  to  point  out  that  my  hypothetical  society  is 
not  a  kind  of  rational  millennium.  To  these  the 
mere  knowledge  that  it  must  still  go  on  recording  and 
comparing  the  same  kinds  of  facts  that  we  now  deal 
with  would  stamp  it  as  necessarily  a  very  primitive 
affair.  But  I  am  rash  enough  to  hope  for  readers 
from  that  class  which  comprises  nearly  all  readers 
and  which  regards  the  facts  of  the  life  it  lives  as 
having  a  perdurable  solidity;  which  not  only  be- 
lieves that  (2  +  2  =  4)  has  been  visibly  demonstrated 
to  it  as  a  truth  for  all  time,  but  looks  upon  liberty, 
equality,  and  fraternity  as  the  highest  of  human 
ideals,  however  inexpedient  it  may  be,  at  any  given 
moment,  to  take  steps  toward  realising  this  ideal. 
In  addressing  this  class  it  would  seem  advisable  to  be 
as  explicit  as  possible  over  any  such  matter  as  the 
millennium,  because  its  members  are  generally  so  en- 
grossed with  the  problems  of  government,  property, 
charity,  and  international  relations  that,  if  you  de- 
scribe to  them  a  society  in  which  there  is  practically 
no  vice,  disease,  poverty,  or  disputes  over  property, 
no  nations  to  war  with  one  another,  nor  anything  to 
prevent  a  man's  doing  pretty  much  as  he  likes, 
they  are  very  apt  to  tell  you  that  you  are  describ- 
ing the  millennium  —  a  lovely  ideal  to  keep  in  the 
back  of  one's  mind,  but  hardly  so  suitable  a  goal  for 
immediate  practical  reforms  as  something  a  long 
way  this  side  of  it. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  329 

I  must  therefore  suggest  to  these  good  canny 
substantialists  that,  if  they  will  but  gently  prod  their 
imaginations,  some  facts  and  necessities  may  pop 
forth,  quite  of  their  chosen  variety,  which  should 
convince  them  that  my  hypothetical  society  is  sep- 
arated from  any  millennium  by  a  distance  so  enor- 
mous that  it  may  well  be  at  the  very  next  door  to  our 
own  imperfect  selves.  Indeed,  once  established,  it 
must  first  of  all  proclaim:  "How  helpless  we  are; 
let  us  to  work !  The  heavenly  bodies  sail  serenely 
on  in  their  accustomed  spheres;  we  are  but  dimly 
and  distantly  aware  of  them,  yet  they  seem  to  us 
symbols  of  a  splendid  and  orderly  progression, 
whilst  here  upon  this  pin-point  of  an  Earth,  which  is 
itself  a  mighty  riddle,  reigns  chaos  indescribable. 
We,  its  creatures,  grope  blindly  toward  ends  which 
always  elude  us  at  the  last.  Only  the  chief  and 
general  end  can  we  understand,  for  it  meets  us  at 
every  turn  and  we  cannot  escape  it.  All  our  acts 
and  all  the  processes  without  us  show  convergent 
lines  which,  if  we  try  to  bend  them,  vanish  along 
with  their  starting-points.  But  the  How  ?  —  here 
is  the  sign  of  our  incompetence.  Let  us  by  all  means 
to  work.  For  we  have  not  yet  learned  how  we  shall 
eat,  drink,  or  sleep;  walk,  run,  or  rest;  beget  or 
conceive;  build  or  destroy.  In  the  minds  of  our 
children  there  is  little  we  may  read;  we  stumble 
forward  with  them  to  almost  certain  disappointment. 
And  not  only  are  we  all  bad  at  most  things  and  good 


330         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

only  at  a  few,  but  each  one  regards  as  suitable  a 
different  manner  of  life  and  a  different  manner  of 
death  from  all  the  others,  so  that  to  each  the  others 
are  incomprehensible.  Here  are  indeed  matters  to 
put  our  teeth  into." 

The  most  casual  honest  scrutiny  of  this  millennium 
of  the  nursery  shows  it  to  be  nothing  more  than  a 
manner  of  speaking,  mere  baby-talk  in  fact.  The 
society  thus  curiously  labelled  is  really  but  a  step 
from  the  one  in  which  we  live  —  a  step  so  short  that 
an  hour's  honest  use  of  their  wits  by  a  few  hundreds 
of  people  should  end  in  their  beginning  with  the 
utmost  confidence  to  pave  the  way.  No  such  impor- 
tant revolution  has  taken  place  within  the  memory 
of  man,  for  indeed — if  the  histories  are  not  in  error — 
nothing  of  the  kind  could  ever  have  been  expected. 
And  to  argue  that  man  is  not  likely  to  cast  off 
morality  because  he  has  clung  to  it  through  some 
thousands  of  years  is  precisely  like  arguing,  as  a 
child  will,  that  a  chick  will  probably  not  break  its 
shell  and  come  out  into  the  light  of  day  because 
nothing  so  striking  as  this  has  ever  happened  to  the 
chick  before.  Grown-ups,  on  the  other  hand,  have 
either  witnessed  the  hatching  of  other  chicks  or  have 
been  told  enough  of  what  is  going  on  inside  the  shell 
to  realise  that  it  may  be  broken. 

There  is  nothing  to  prevent  the  realisation  of  my 
hypothetical  society  within  the  space  of  a  year 
from  this  day  —  absolutely  nothing  except  native 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  331 

stupidity.  Moreover,  it  is  impossible  to  entertain 
serious  misgivings  on  the  point :  to  say,  for  example : 
"It  looks  rational,  sensible,  good,  inevitable;  but 
what  of  the  limitations  of  the  actual  age?  In  the 
hour  of  disaster,  scores  of  our  people  go  mad  with 
terror  and  bereavement  whilst  thousands  turn  with 
the  most  convincing  passion  and  sincerity  to  the 
relics  of  a  saint,  averter  of  scourges.  The  race  is 
almost  entirely  made  up  of  people  like  these  and  of 
others  whose  superstitions  are  but  a  trifle  less  crude. 
If  we  try  to  impose  novel  syllogisms  on  these  unsea- 
soned masses,  the  immediate  consequences  may  be 
the  opposite  of  our  intention :  we  may  all  be  plunged 
into  an  era  of  barbarous  gloom.  Then,  where  should 
we  come  in,  the  reasonable  ones  ?  Where  would  any- 
body come  in?" 

Such  reflexions  are  manifestly  out  of  the  question. 
I  will  say  nothing  of  the  theory  that  great  benefits 
are  to  be  attained  only  through  great  tribulations, 
for  I  do  not  believe  in  this  theory.  I  must,  however, 
point  out  that  to  any  who  may  regard  my  hypotheti- 
cal society  as  "rational,  good,  sensible,  inevitable," 
anything  is  better  than  to  submit  to  the  actual 
regime.  Better,  a  thousand  times,  to  witness  an 
opening  era  of  barbarous  gloom  than  to  continue 
to  live  morally.  Take  this  philosophy  seriously  and 
you  must  break  the  law  —  as  sensibly  and  unselfishly 
as  in  you  lies ;  and  you  must  go  on  breaking  it  until 
it  is  past  repair  or  you  are  yourself  broken.     Mis- 


332        THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

takes  you  will  make  which  you  will  not  care  to 
repeat;  but  to  keep  yourself  from  error  that  is  in- 
tolerable, break  the  law  you  must. 

The  prospect  is  clear  enough:  man  must  either 
come  out  of  his  shell  or  die  absurdly  inside  it ;  but 
it  is  clear  only  to  those  who  will  stop  and  think  and 
cease  to  fear,  —  cease,  that  is,  trying  to  glorify 
themselves  whilst  they  may. 

(3)  And  unless  I  am  a  poor  judge  of  the  times,  the 
hour  of  hatching  has  not  yet  arrived.  I  need  hardly 
say  that  I  have  neither  the  wish  nor  the  power  to 
discourage  others  from  working  for  that  practical 
end  which  I  myself  most  cherish  in  anticipation ;  yet 
I  cannot  believe  that  any  purpose  is  served  by 
withholding  an  honest  opinion.  Therefore,  much 
as  I  wish  I  may  prove  wrong,  and  fully  as  I  realise 
that  the  more  immediate  and  practical  the  problem, 
the  more  dubious  must  be  any  diagnosis  of  it,  I 
must  record  my  belief  that  the  times  are  outwardly 
too  peaceable  for  any  new  and  considerable  social 
movement  to  gain  headway.  Let  me  explain  what  I 
mean  by  "  outwardly  too  peaceable."  Though  much 
of  what  I  shall  say  has  been  said  over  and  over 
again,  I  believe  I  differ  on  one  point  from  most  of 
those  who  complain  of  the  general  apathy  or  opposi- 
tion with  which  all  novel  ideas  and  propaganda  are 
at  first  greeted. 

The  outward  aspect  of  the  three  great  classes  of 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  333 

society  when  confronted,  as  they  are  from  time  to 
time,  with  such  a  proposition  as  "  Morality  must  go," 
is  familiar  enough  to  all  interested  observers.  From 
the  three  classes  I,  of  course,  exclude  the  handful 
of  people  who  try  to  think  for  themselves  and,  in  so 
thinking,  succeed  to  some  extent  in  forgetting 
that  species  of  reason  which  we  commonly  designate 
as  emotional  considerations.  And  by  the  three 
classes  I  mean  classes  as  they  exist  to-day,  and 
roughly  as  they  have  existed  in  certain  other 
periods  of  history. 

The  Proletariat  or  that  portion  of  them  to  whose 
ears  the  novel  proposition  has  penetrated,  receive 
it  in  dumb  wonder,  perhaps  with  dismay;  but 
generally  the  first  question  they  ask  themselves  is 
whether  it  contains  any  possibilities  of  more  bread 
and  beer;  for  they,  poor  things,  are  greatly  in  need 
of  both. 

The  second  class,  the  Philistines,  is  by  far  the  most 
important  and  influential,  although  it  often  finds  an 
ally  and  leader  in  the  third.  It  comprises  nearly 
all  our  successful  merchants,  great  and  small, 
financiers,  legislators,  lawyers,  men  of  letters,  and 
doubtless  most  of  our  other  artists  and  scientists  as 
well.  Now,  the  distinguishing  feature  of  this  class 
is  generally  said  to  be  its  complacency,  and  it  is 
just  this  complacency  that  I  do  not  believe  in.  I 
admit  that  this  belief  is  based  solely  on  my  own 
personal  observation  of  a  limited  number  of  people 


334         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

who  often  appear  to  furnish  conflicting  testimony. 
Hence  my  attitude  towards  it  bears  no  intimate 
relation  to,  but  is  utterly  different  from,  my  attitude 
towards  the  central  doctrine  of  this  chapter.  Let 
me,  however,  give  my  opinion  for  whatever  it  may 
be  worth. 

I  have  known  plenty  of  Philistines  of  different 
nationalities  and  have  never  remarked  that  they  ate, 
slept,  or  kept  their  temper  better  than  any  others ; 
that  they  found  their  church  in  better  agreement 
with  their  desires  and  ambitions;  that  they  gave 
their  women  especially  good  reason  to  rejoice  in  the 
prospect  of  their  fidelity  —  one  may  guess  how  they 
would  generally  take  this  ambiguous  clause ;  —  that 
they  were  preeminently  free  from  mutual  jeal- 
ousies or  distinguished  for  their  ease  of  manner  in  all 
circles;  that  they  felt  pleasantly  secure  in  their 
possessions  or  in  their  foothold  on  the  ladder  of 
fame.  In  sum,  I  have  never  been  able  to  see  any 
truth  in  the  dictum  that  Philistines  are  especially 
content  with  their  relation  to  church,  state,  society  in 
general,  matrimony,  or  to  any  other  form  of  law  to 
which  they  submit,  and  that  being  content  in  these 
respects,  they  satisfy  their  need  of  change  within 
the  limits  prescribed  by  law  or  in  regions  in  which 
law  is  lax  or  mainly  irrelevant.  Moreover,  nearly 
every  Philistine  I  have  ever  known  has  on  occasions 
held  up  the  mirror  and  seen  himself  there,  Philistine, 
big  as  life.  This  act  represents  the  best  thought  of 
the  Philistines  and  is  a  death-blow  to  complacency. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  335 

What  I  have  actually  remarked  in  Philistines  is 
not  complacency,  but  a  feeling  that  they  have  good 
reason  to  be  complacent,  —  a  feeling  which  naturally 
leads  to  moments  of  complete  surprise  at  them- 
selves and  at  one  another.  Laws  go  without  saying. 
They  obey  the  laws  —  at  least  more  conscientiously 
than  any  others.  Hence  they  should  attain  as  great 
a  degree  of  happiness  as  is  possible  in  this  imperfect 
world  of  ours.  It  is  of  course  very  irritating  to  peo- 
ple who  take  themselves  seriously  as  conscientious 
members  of  society  to  find  themselves  exposed  to  a 
whole  list  of  disappointments  which  the  most  re- 
bellious of  sinners  may  escape.  For  my  own  part,  I 
believe  it  is  not  for  nothing  that  I  have  witnessed  the 
dismal  outcome  of  marriages  that  had  looked  suit- 
able, of  systems  of  training  that  had  looked  practical, 
of  national  projects  that  had  looked  patriotic,  of 
philanthropic  schemes  that  had  looked  prophetic. 
For  I  can  no  longer  reproach  the  Philistines  with  a 
selfish  disregard  of  the  complaints  of  the  minority, 
but  must  pity  the  constitutional  cowardice  and 
stupidity  which  prevents  their  taking  the  first  step 
towards  a  degree  of  independence  commensurate 
with  their  wits  and  opportunities.  Law  we  must 
have,  at  least  while  we  are  so  many  hurtling  against 
one  another.  But  just  as  a  man  of  fifty  must  look 
sharp  to  justify  his  years,  so  law  that  has  persisted 
for  as  many  centuries  must  be  open  to  grave  sus- 
picion especially  when  it  is  proving  inconvenient  to 
its  Philistines. 


336         THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

I  have  been  speaking  of  Philistines  as  they  appear 
in  times  like  the  present.  We  shall  see  directly 
how  they  shape  in  times  when  they  perceive  less 
reason  for  complacency.  But  meanwhile  we  should 
briefly  rehearse  their  attitude  when  confronted,  in 
outwardly  peaceable  times,  with  such  a  proposition 
as  "Morality  must  go."  Very  generally  and  quite 
simply  they  call  it  madness  and  its  author  a  lunatic ; 
and  this  is  by  no  means  a  cowardly  judgment. 
Cowardice,  or  stupidity,  has  established  the  point 
of  view  from  which  they  must  regard  any  proposi- 
tion; but  the  particular  judgment  pronounced  — 
at  all  events  in  the  case  of  morality  —  is  quite  sin- 
cere. To  most  Philistines  it  is  also  sufficient,  and 
by  these  the  matter  may  be  put  aside.  Some  of  the 
learned  ones,  however,  enjoy  demolishing  at  length 
the  argument  against  morality,  which  is  done  by 
showing  that  it  contains  no  explicit  answer  to  certain 
remarks  on  the  subject  made  by  one  who  has  en- 
joyed some  twenty  centuries  of  standard  immortality. 
Others  with  a  still  more  pronounced  turn  for  con- 
troversy prove  that  the  author  has  quite  simply  and 
consistently  been  substituting  black  for  white.  This 
is  an  easy  and  telling  refutation,  since  recognised 
opposites  such  as  black  and  white  need  not  be  other- 
wise defined.  Still  others,  discovering  in  the  text  a 
sportive  phrase  or  two  such  as  could  never  escape 
the  pen  of  one  who  was  dealing  seriously  with  a  sub- 
ject like  morality,  acquit  the  author  of  madness  and 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  337 

of  revolutionary  intent  alike,  and  show  that  he  has 
merely  been  indulging  in  a  sophistic  tour  de  force 
for  the  amusement  of  himself  and  of  any  who  are 
clever  enough  to  guess  his  meaning. 

Not  only  are  the  Philistine's  notions  of  logic 
extremely  crude,  but  it  is  rare  that  he  will  admit  at 
the  outset  that  there  is  a  chance  for  argument  in 
favour  of  a  principle  that  is  the  opposite  of  one  he  has 
been  brought  up  on  and  has  never  thought  of  question- 
ing. The  moment  he  realises  that  you  are  entering 
on  such  an  argument,  his  whole  nature  is  up  in  arms 
against  the  beginning  of  your  next  statement:  he 
has  no  need  to  wait  for  the  predicate,  for  the  very 
words  with  which  he  is  so  familiar  have  a  new  and 
unreal  sound  as  they  come  from  your  lips.  If  of  a 
comparatively  placid  temper,  he  listens  comfortably, 
heedless  of  the  argument  but  mildly  amused  at  its 
practical  outcome.  If  of  a  sympathetic  temper, 
he  is  sorry  for  you;  if  neurotic,  he  protests  vehe- 
mently against  such  obvious  absurdities ;  or  if  he  is 
endowed  with  rather  more  than  a  Philistine's  share 
of  curiosity,  his  efforts  to  follow  the  argument  will 
probably  leave  him  bewildered  and  mentally  ex- 
hausted. 

For  any  fancied  purposes  of  action  or  serious 
thought  all  Philistia,  if  left  to  itself,  remains  unmoved 
by  novel  propaganda.  We  generally  describe  the 
Philistines  as  our  utilitarian  folk,  devoted  exclu- 
sively to  practical  pursuits.    An  equivalent  char- 


338         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

acteristic  is  their  reluctance  to  put  any  obvious 
series  of  direct  questions  to  themselves,  to  the  world 
in  which  they  live,  or  to  history.  For,  indeed,  one 
question  begets  another  as  waves  of  the  sea  beget 
other  waves;  and  all  enquiries  must  either  roll  out 
to  an  ocean-wide  unknown  and  so  appear  futile  to 
Philistines  or  else  dash  against  the  rocks  of  a  law 
which  they  regard  as  more  enduring  than  does  the 
physicist  the  law  of  gravity. 

Hence  the  Philistine's  deep  distrust  of  philosophy 
and  his  curious  dictum  that  philosophy  has  never 
accomplished  anything  of  general  and  enduring 
value  —  as  if  philosophy  were  presumably  inferior 
in  this  respect  to  religion  or  military  science.  Hence, 
too,  the  probability  that  whatever  new  tinge  his 
attitude  of  indifference  towards  novel  propaganda 
may  receive  will  be  one  of  resentment. 

I  will  pass  over  the  practical  and  unthinking  pessi- 
mists —  Philistines  who  desired  success  above  all 
else  and  failed  —  as  presenting  no  points  of  special 
interest  in  this  discussion,  and  next  take  up  the  third 
and  smallest,  though  by  no  means  always  the  least 
important,  subdivision  of  society. 

Let  me  name  them  Idealists,  as  they  have  been 
named  before,  and  without  reference  to  current  philo- 
sophical terminology.  These  are  people  who  deal 
extensively  in  ideas  as  a  jeweller  deals  in  precious 
stones,  building  them  into  beautiful  ornaments  of 
life.     Woman  is  to  them  an  idea,  fixed  and  immu- 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  339 

table ;  manhood  another  such ;  and  a  favourite  prob- 
lem is  to  weld  these  two  ideas  into  an  institution  of 
marriage  or  of  free  love,  as  the  case  may  be,  that 
shall  be  finally  sanctified  and  universally  revered. 
Similarly,  true  altruism  must  always  warm  the 
cockles  of  the  heart. 

Idealists,  like  Philistines,  are  to  be  found  in  all 
walks  of  life :  nearly  all  socialists,  probably,  belong  to 
this  class.  They  despise  the  Philistines  for  their 
single-minded  devotion  to  success,  but  regard  them 
as  useful,  if  somewhat  clumsy,  implements  for  the 
glorification  of  truth.  So  that,  when  a  sufficiently 
large  section  of  the  Philistines  has  been  roused  by 
the  Idealists  to  the  sense  of  an  existing  wrong,  there 
ensues  a  religious  or  social  revolution  of  considerable 
proportions. 

Widely  as  the  Idealists  differ  among  themselves 
as  to  their  formulas  for  progress  or  reform,  and  im- 
moral as  some  of  their  acts  and  doctrines  are  deemed 
by  the  Philistines,  it  is  nevertheless  pretty  certain 
that  any  such  sweeping  proposition  as  "Morality 
must  go,"  if  forcibly  put,  will  be  greeted  by  them 
generally  with  a  scream  of  rage.  Though  they  are 
willing  enough  to  swell  the  Philistine  cry  of  "lu- 
nacy," the  chances  are  that  they  will  end  with 
getting  it  amended  to  "criminal  lunacy."  And  if 
they  perceive  signs  of  defection  in  their  own  ranks 
or  of  awakening  thought  amongst  the  Philistines, 
no  effort  will  be  spared  to  bar  the  doors  of  society 


340         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

to  the  introducer  of  the  unsavoury  proposition  be- 
fore it  has  had  time  to  set  up  a  widespread  indiges- 
tion of  established  truths.  For  the  Idealists  share 
the  Philistine  reluctance  to  put  to  themselves  seri- 
ously any  obvious  series  of  questions.  An  estab- 
lished truth,  often  hidden  and  forgotten,  is  the 
central  stone  of  each  of  their  set  pieces.  They 
differ  from  the  Philistines  in  their  avowed  dissatis- 
faction with  society  as  it  is;  yet  their  desire  is  to 
remodel  it  on  lines  that,  when  all's  said  and  done, 
are  essentially  classic. 

Their  irritation  at  sweeping  propositions  is,  then, 
readily  comprehensible.  For  it  is  only  natural 
that  men  who  have  had  to  take  account  of  the  re- 
peated failure  of  ideals  which  they  have  made  it 
their  business  in  life  to  herald  and  prepare  for  should 
have  conceived  in  the  back  of  their  minds  sufficient 
distrust  of  these  ideals  to  regard  as  dangerous  any 
systematic  attempt  to  demonstrate  that  they  have 
never  been  and  can  never  be  realised.  Passions  once 
inflamed,  any  argument  will  do.  The  great  point, 
then,  is  to  crush  rebellion  as  speedily  as  possible 
—  to  triumph  over  the  rebel  for  the  day  and  genera- 
tion, regardless  of  reason  or  of  the  consequences  to 
posterity.  And  the  devotees  of  primeval  law  and 
of  ideals  derived  from  it  are  none  the  less  glad  or 
self-righteous  in  their  triumph  because  they  happen 
to  know  nothing  of  the  rebellious  doctrine  in  question 
and  have  no  idea  how  they  would  cope  with  any 
doctrine  whatsoever  if  left  strictly  to  themselves. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  341 

The  above  classification  of  society  makes  no  pre- 
tension to  rigorousness ;  for  it  would  be  idle  to  deny 
that  we  have  each  and  all  of  us  more  or  less  of  both 
Philistine  and  Idealist  in  us,  or  that  we  are  first  and 
foremost  the  bread-and-beer  brothers  of  the  Pro- 
letariat. Here,  indeed,  is  again  and  inevitably 
suggested  the  argument  for  our  emancipation  from 
primeval  law.  The  purest  Philistine,  if  allowed  to 
do  as  he  liked,  would  look  amongst  pure  Philistines 
for  a  conjugal  mate,  for  he  would  not  only  be  suspi- 
cious of  other  women,  but  would  be  refused  by  them 
if  he  asked.  The  purest  Idealist  would  wish  his  chil- 
dren to  be  like  him  and  would  make  his  choice  ac- 
cordingly. If  we  admit  —  what  would  perhaps  be 
denied  by  either  Philistines  or  Idealists  of  the  purest 
blood  —  that  there  are  limits  to  the  possibilities  of 
both  Philistinism  and  Idealism,  we  shall  see  that  the 
pure  stock  of  both  must  in  time  run  to  seed.  Unen- 
terprising Proletarians  of  the  purest  breed  would 
also  disappear  through  this  and  other  means.  From 
each  class,  then,  would  be  eliminated  the  purest  of 
its  retrograde  elements,  and  the  race  would  be  per- 
petuated by  those  individuals  who  were  most  in- 
clined to  effect  the  agreeable  exchange  of  an  old 
state  of  dependence  for  a  new  one. 

However  rough  my  classification,  and  however 
long  in  coming  might  be  any  important  results  of 
purely  elective  breeding  if  unenforced  by  the  other 
processes  described  above,   I   believe  —  to  return 


342         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

to  the  point  now  under  discussion  —  the  picture  I 
have  drawn  of  a  novel  idea  before  the  bar  of  modern 
society  will  bear  little  retouching.  What  I  meant 
by ' '  outwardly  peaceable  times  "  should  now  be  clear, 
also  that  I  must  regard  the  present  times  as  no  more 
peaceable  inwardly  than  any  others.  A  peaceful 
surface  to  the  times  depends  upon  the  strength  of  the 
traditional  illusions  that  we  have  been  discussing 
relatively  to  the  strength  of  such  other  ideas  as  of 
rational  living,  imminent  famine,  national  greed,  etc. 

Certain  conditions,  then,  are  readily  conceivable 
under  which  a  novel  idea  may  gain  a  more  extensive 
and  dispassionate  hearing. 

When  a  few  Philistines  become  so  besotted  in  their 
devotion  to  wealth  and  power  that  they  proceed  to 
grab  as  much  of  both  as  they  can  lay  their  legal 
hands  on,  their  brothers  turn  against  them  and  a 
political  revolution  ensues,  perhaps  with  bloodshed 
but  certainly  with  material  and  social  disadvantages 
to  the  great  bulk  of  the  people  involved. 

Similar  results  may  be  expected  when  a  clever 
Idealist  gains  the  ear  of  the  Proletariat  and  formu- 
lates for  them,  under  a  suitable  disguise,  the  notions 
of  Mine  and  Thine  that  prevail  in  the  nursery. 

When  a  capable  warrior  arises  to  lead  an  aggres- 
sive people,  useful  lives,  valuable  material,  and 
timely  efforts  in  all  sorts  of  directions  may  be 
wasted  to  an  even  greater  extent. 

In  all  these  and  many  other  similar  contingencies 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  343 

that  are  either  known  to  history  or  liable  to  material- 
ise at  any  moment,  the  bulk  of  Philistines  and 
Idealists  alike  are  put  to  it  to  safeguard  for  the 
future  their  chosen  manners  of  life.  The  Idealist 
is  in  despair  over  the  sordid  ugliness  of  the  affair  — 
which  he  may  himself  have  precipitated  —  and  is  in 
constant  danger  of  becoming  the  blackest  of  pessi- 
mists. The  Philistine  makes  the  most  strenuous  and 
whole-souled  efforts  to  save  his  property  and  his 
position,  and  to  ensure  suitable  surroundings  for  his 
children ;  for  his  faith  in  the  value  of  wealth,  educa- 
tion, and  the  existing  social  scale  is  an  automatic 
process  of  reasoning  which  shows  him  how  miser- 
able he  would  be  if  the  relation  of  his  family  to  all 
three  were  considerably  altered. 

In  the  final  resolution  pretty  well  everybody 
emerges  from  the  fray  scarred  and  smudged  and  feel- 
ing that  he  has  come  off  second  best.  It  is  diffi- 
cult for  a  respectable  Philistine  to  look  another 
respectable  Philistine  in  the  face  because  of  the  un- 
wonted things  that  both  have  done  in  the  time  of 
stress.  It  is  difficult  for  two  boon  companions  of 
Idealists  to  discuss  the  old  projects  with  the  old 
familiarity  because  each  finds  that  his  ideas  have 
changed  somewhat  in  the  interval.  It  is  difficult 
for  the  Proletarian  to  make  up  his  mind  who  is  to 
blame  for  the  fact  that  he  can  hardly  feed  himself, 
let  alone  wife  and  children. 

In  sum,  there  has  been  a  loss  of  confidence.     The 


344         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

Philistine  distrusts  the  power  of  church  and  state  to 
secure  for  him  the  fruits  of  his  diligence  and  respect- 
ability; the  Idealist  distrusts  the  working  value  of 
his  earlier  conceptions  of  beauty  and  altruism;  the 
Proletarian  distrusts  both  his  leaders  and  his  fellow- 
winners  of  bread  and  beer. 

While  the  damage  is  being  reckoned  up  and  the 
most  needful  repairs  undertaken,  many  a  new  idea 
takes  root  in  the  public  mind.  Democracy,  Chris- 
tianity, Humanity,  are  some  of  the  curious  principles 
that  have  sprung  from  such  a  beginning.  However 
elementary  they  may  appear  to  us  who  have  seen 
them  tested,  they  have  at  least  been  new  as  avowed 
principles ;  and  the  accumulation  of  a  sufficient  num- 
ber of  such  new  principles  as  a  heritage  of  the  race 
will  inevitably  lead  to  the  development  of  a  more 
fundamentally  useful  idea.  The  honest  thinker 
can  bide  his  time :  he  never  dies,  and  he  has  already 
learned  enough  to  be  able  to  beautify  his  own 
dwelling.  If,  in  the  future,  a  more  general  upset 
than  is  now  on  record  again  leaves  society  gazing 
at  its  shattered  homes,  ideals,  and  forms  of  law,  he 
will  be  there  to  point  out  grey-haired  Morality 
stalking,  like  Peer  Gynt,  amongst  the  ruins  of  a 
disorderly  life  and  muttering  vainly,  "I  have  always 
endeavoured  to  be  myself."  And,  if  they  have  got 
eye-peeps  to  see,  Philistine  and  Idealist  will  then 
realise  that  our  putting  into  the  mouth  of  Morality 
so  sensible  a  precept  as  "Do  as  you  would  be  done 
by"  was  a  piece  of  the  most  cowardly  impertinence. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  345 

But  there  is  another  possibility,  and  one  more 
agreeable  to  contemplate.  For,  if  I  set  up  to  be  an 
honest  thinker,  I  must  declare  that  in  the  last 
analysis  of  which  I  am  capable  it  is  a  matter  of  in- 
difference to  me  whether  a  certain  revolution  be  a 
bloody  one  or  not,  and  that  in  every  analysis  except 
the  last  one  I  find  a  bloodless  revolution  more  con- 
genial and  more  reasonable. 

The  other  possibility  may  be  stated  in  few  words. 
If  a  single  man  to-day  preaches  the  desirability  of 
rules  of  conduct  more  rational  than  those  embodied 
in  any  known  code  of  morals,  general  or  individual, 
past  or  present,  Eastern  or  Western,  savage  or 
civilised,  he  can  hardly  expect  many  listeners  in 
either  Philistine  or  Idealist  circles.  But  if  a 
hundred  good  prophets  and  true  keep  on  dinning 
into  Philistine  ears:  "Look  here,  you  fellows,  if  you 
don't  stop  and  think  a  bit,  it's  perfectly  certain  that 
somebody  will  make  a  rough  house  of  your  abode  "  — 
it  is  possible  that  the  education  of  the  Philistines 
would  begin.  It  is  even  possible  that  all  but  they 
of  pure  blood  would  give  such  free  play  to  mental 
faculties  whose  existence  was  hitherto  unsuspected 
as  to  be  able  to  join  in  the  work  of  reform  for  reform's 
sake.  And  it  is  far  more  likely  that  the  bulk  of  them 
would  eventually  conclude  that  the  best  method  of 
keeping  some  small  portion  of  Philistia  intact  would 
be  to  dispense  with  its  outward  forms  and  observances 
as  well  as  with  most  of  its  stultifying  privileges. 


346         THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

Once  this  were  done,  it  is  highly  probable  that  the 
unstable  condition  of  their  ancient  heritage  would 
become  apparent  to  them  and  that  the  new  obliga- 
tions they  must  shoulder  would  at  least  be  more 
welcome  than  a  return  to  the  old  drudgery  which 
should  have  led  to  ultimate  satisfaction,  but  did  not. 
"  And  you  other  fellows," — thus  our  good  prophets 
to  the  Idealists,  —  "if  you  won't  give  over  building 
your  crowns  and  coronets  of  immaculate  and  undy- 
ing beauty  long  enough  to  realise  how  uncomfortably 
they  would  sit  on  any  mortal  or  immortal  head, 
you  will  assuredly  go  thundering  down  to  posterity 
as  the  most  notorious  party  of  sentimentalists  that 
ever  spread  jealousies  and  disappointments  over  a 
credulous  age.  Beauty  dies ;  and  it  is  a  new  beauty 
that  is  born  again.  Until  you  have  acknowledged 
that  you  cannot  arrest  those  processes  of  nature 
in  which  man  himself  has  a  vital  stake,  you  will  be 
debarred  from  sharing  in  the  best  activities  of  the 
day."  Some  such  threat  as  this,  if  elaborated  and 
duly  emphasised,  would  probably  incite  our  Idealists 
to  redoubled  efforts.  We  may  even  imagine  them 
taking  up  the  challenge  in  practical  fashion  and 
zealously  organising  innumerable  little  societies  be- 
yond the  reach  of  both  Philistine  and  rationalist- 
prophetic  influences.  In  any  case,  it  seems  likely 
enough  that  the  process  of  healthy  disillusionment 
for  the  benefit  of  posterity  would  be  hastened  a  good 
deal. 


IMMEDIATE   IMPLICATIONS  347 

Any  way  must  be  a  good  way  that  leads  to  the 
general  adoption  of  a  rational  view  of  death,  —  a 
more  rational  view  than  is  now  embodied  in  the  will 
to  live  when  nothing  is  to  be  gained  for  posterity, 
and  the  will  to  die  when  there  is  yet  hope.  For  this 
is  the  prime  need  of  the  day.  To  satisfy  it  seems 
a  small  enough  achievement,  if  we  consider  what  lies 
beyond  —  an  achievement  no  bigger,  doubtless,  than 
to  rise  erect  after  having  always  gone  on  all  fours. 
It  is  nevertheless  the  first  and  most  obvious  concern 
of  philosophy,  for  upon  it  hangs  every  problem  of  our 
social  life.     Hence  the  title  of  this  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    LOVE    OF   TRUTH 

This  chapter  is  the  record  of  a  series  of  random' 
observations  upon  life  —  sheer  assertions,  some  of 
which  are  so  obvious  that  their  sole  justification  lies 
in  the  supposedly  cumulative  effect  of  iteration. 
For  others,  less  obvious,  the  justification  has 
appeared  in  the  earlier  chapters  of  this  book  and  will 
probably  be  readily  recalled. 

The  tone  adopted  generally  will  be  one  that  has 
not  been  conspicuous  in  the  foregoing  pages  except 
by  implication  —  a  tone  of  discontent,  even  pessi- 
mism. And  the  uses  of  rational  pessimism  will  be 
discussed,  it  being  stipulated  that  no  rational 
optimism  is  possible  without  a  pessimism  on  which 
to  rest  it.  As  thus,  —  granted  the  desirability  of 
making  as  much  as  possible  of  this  human  race  of 
ours,  contentment  may  be  defined  as  the  hope  of  les- 
sening discontent.  Progress,  love,  happiness,  every- 
thing that  is  worth  having  upon  Earth  is  completely 
dependent  upon  discontent.  Without  pausing  again 
to  apologise  for  the  exceeding  triteness  of  this  state- 
ment —  which  is  but  one  of  our  many  local  and  in- 
adequate  expressions   of   the   law   of   continuous 

348 


THE  LOVE   OF  TRUTH  349 

change  —  I  will  forthwith  make  elaborate  prepara- 
tions for  a  definition  of  the  love  of  truth. 

A  satisfactory  definition,  even  for  the  immediate 
purposes  of  a  few  more  days  of  life,  is  doubtless 
impossible ;  for  observe  the  implications  of  this  law 
of  continuity.  A  conception  has  been  defined  as 
"that  which  may  be  maintained  in  thought."  This 
definition  is  perhaps  convenient  enough  considering 
the  limitations  of  language.  But  it  is  to  be  remem- 
bered that  what  is  so  maintained  may  never  in  itself 
or  in  its  subject-matter  remain  the  same,  but  must 
continuously  be  replaced  by  something  which  is  new 
by  virtue  of  the  replacement.  A  true  conception, 
relatively  speaking,  must  ever  lead  to  new  concep- 
tions in  the  course  of  which  process  it  is  itself 
modified.  If  it  ever  becomes  rounded  off  and  sus- 
ceptible of  complete  and  satisfactory  expression  in 
words,  its  usefulness  is  departed:  it  is  no  longer  a 
conception.  In  sum,  nobody  may  flatter  himself 
that  he  has  a  true  conception  unless  he  persistently 
tracks  down  its  implications  and  finds  ever  new  ones 
running  before  him  to  show  that  all  along  he  has 
been  at  fault. 

Concerning  truth,  then,  and  the  love  of  it,  we  must 
speak  relatively.  Truths  are  exceedingly  various 
in  nature  and  in  practical  importance;  and  the 
particular  truth  possessing  the  greatest  practical 
importance  is  the  one  that  finally  removes  from  con- 
sideration the  greatest  amount  of  earlier  truth.     My 


350         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

definition  of  the  love  of  truth  will  be  an  indirect  one, 
by  means  of  particular  examples  and  comparisons 
which  may  serve  to  show  the  varied  nature  of  this 
love  and  so  amount  to  a  useful  definition. 

In  some  of  these  examples  is  involved  our  racial 
belief  in  the  supernatural.  Hence  a  further  intro- 
duction seems  desirable. 

In  the  light  of  that  most  general  truth  which  alone 
possesses  ultimate  validity,  we  have  seen  the  super- 
natural and  all  other  final  causes  relegated  to  the 
category  of  conceptions  of  impossible  illusions.  If  a 
divinity  were  suddenly  to  appear  in  the  sky  before 
some  thousands  of  us,  perform  other  superhuman 
deeds,  reveal  unsuspected  truths,  and  end  with 
proclaiming  itself  the  creator  of  the  universe,  we 
should  doubtless  be  greatly  puzzled  by  the  occur- 
rence, but  we  could  not  accept  the  divinity's  account 
of  itself.  Indeed  we  must  discredit  this  account 
more  promptly  than  we  discredit  the  testimony  of  our 
senses  as  to  a  hammer — that  it  is,  once  and  for  all, 
wood  and  iron  shaped  conveniently  for  the  business 
of  hammering.  For  our  divinity  and  its  proclama- 
tion would  constitute  a  particular  experience  conflict- 
ing with  the  testimony  of  all  other  experiences. 
Not  until  it  should  have  manifested  itself  for  long 
ages  in  every  single  detail  of  all  our  lives,  leaving 
no  possible  room  for  doubt,  backsliding,  apostasy, 
could  we  begin  seriously  to  consider  it  as  a  factor 
ultimately  to  be  reckoned  with. 


THE   LOVE  OF  TRUTH  351 

I  shall  soon  bring  under  consideration  some  of  the 
present  consequences  of  similar  concrete  apparitions 
which  are  said  to  have  been  experienced  in  the  past. 
Meanwhile  let  me  give  a  definition,  mainly  classical, 
of  the  supernatural,  and  a  similar  explanation  of  the 
origin  of  our  belief  in  it. 

The  supernatural,  like  the  universe  of  one  dimen- 
sion, was  invented  or  irresistibly  suggested  as  an 
explanation  of  the  omnipresent  and  inexorable  un- 
known. That  extra-terrestrial  critic  who  has  already 
been  invoked  upon  more  than  one  occasion  would  un- 
doubtedly infer  from  knowledge  of  but  a  few  of  the 
conditions  of  our  existence  that  we  must,  some  of  us 
all  the  time  and  all  of  us  some  of  the  time,  both  love 
and  fear  the  supernatural.  What  with  certain  facts 
of  which  we  are  all  aware :  as  love  of  one  another,  as 
death,  as  the  inexplicable  divergence  of  individuals 
from  typical  character,  as  the  unaccountable  ad- 
vent of  benefits  ardently  desired,  as  the  unac- 
countable visitation  of  calamities  when  men  were 
killing  and  stealing;  and  what  with  certain  con- 
ditions of  our  activities  of  which  we  are,  on  any 
given  occasion,  partially  or  wholly  unaware :  as  the 
tendency,  embodying  present  discontent,  to  magnify 
the  performance  of  past  generations ;  as  the  cumula- 
tive distortion  of  impressions  received  simultaneously 
by  numbers  of  people  reacting  upon  one  another 
while  in  the  grip  of  a  powerful  emotion :  —  it  is  in- 
evitable that  gods  and  witches,  genii,  heroes,  and 


352         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

devils,  should  rise  and  hold  us  in  their  phantasmal 
sway;  that  all  descriptions  of  unthinkable  and  un- 
desirable hells  and  heavens  should  be  intensely 
feared  or  impulsively  desired. 

At  a  time  when  those  principles  called  scientific 
had  not  yet  prevailed  upon  the  generality  of  men  to 
bring  any  great  measure  of  reason  into  their  efforts  to 
account  for  any  events  of  their  lives,  their  visions 
of  the  supernatural  might,  under  the  appropriate 
conditions,  possess  vividness  of  beauty  or  of  horror 
in  an  indefinite  degree  up  to  the  point  where  life 
would  no  longer  support  them.  That  such  was 
indeed  the  case  is  abundantly  proved  by  those  relics 
of  past  ages  at  which  we  now  gaze  with  alien  or 
profane  admiration.  For  the  religions  issuing  from 
these  miracles  of  revelation  were  long  ago  outgrown 
and,  most  of  the  time  since,  have  subsisted  upon 
ignorance,  cupidity,  and  the  force  of  habit.  Revivals 
there  are,  especially  when  the  world  has  had  an  over- 
dose of  reason;  likewise  ingenious  modifications 
and  revisions ;  but,  unsafe  as  is  generally  any  forecast 
of  the  immediate  future,  it  seems  quite  within  the 
bounds  of  prudence  to  predict  that  the  net  result, 
in  this  future,  of  all  revivals  of  and  reactions  against 
any  religion  based  upon  god  or  devil  will  be  a  decline 
of  this  religion  as  an  influence  among  men. 

But  this  is  not  to  say  that  the  god  and  the  devil 
will  necessarily  disappear  along  with  the  church 
and  the  mosque.     On  the  contrary,  it  seems  highly 


THE   LOVE   OF  TRUTH  353 

probable  that  they  will  lurk  in  the  back  of  our  mind 
long  after  we  have  openly  and  seriously  repudiated 
them.  For  how  shall  any  one  of  us  of  to-day,  clearly 
recognising  the  crudity  and  insufficiency  of  divinity, 
ignoring  the  tiresome  analogies  put  forward  in  the 
hope  of  a  close  alliance  with  more  advanced  con- 
ceptions, —  how  shall  such  a  one  know  when  he  may 
be  called  upon  to  humble  himself  before  the  god  that 
is  deep-rooted  in  his  past  ?  Though  he  fancy  he  has 
come  scathless  through  the  gantlet  of  extreme 
anguish,  fear,  resentment,  let  Fate,  the  Inquisitor, 
play  upon  him  a  more  subtly  nasty  trick  than  any 
he  could  have  dreamed  of  —  which  is  always  pos- 
sible, even  in  the  days  of  enlightened  arrogance  — 
and  I  warrant  he  goes  down  on  his  knees. 

Now  to  our  instances  of  the  love  of  truth.  Let  a 
man  fancy  that  the  particular  love  of  truth  to  which 
he  happens  to  be  faithful  is  the  only  such  love  in 
existence,  and  he  will  not  understand  these  instances. 
Probably,  however,  no  such  person  will  have  read 
these  pages ;  and  to  others  the  instances  may  be  of 
interest  if  they  are  not  too  stale  or  obvious. 

I  have  heard  that  a  burglar  was  once  caught  because 
he  stopped  to  write  a  note  to  the  head  of  the  family 
in  which  he  said  that  he  scorned  to  take  the  children's 
moneys  and  small  trinkets. 

Shibli  Bagarag,  at  the  court  of  Oolb,  having  good 
reasons  of  his  own  for  concealing  his  identity,  was  so 
moved  at  the  sight  of  barber's  tackle  that  he  be- 

2x 


354         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

trayed  himself  in  his  impatience  to  execute  a  good 
job  upon  the  unshaved  king  and  courtiers. 

John  chid  Peter  for  thanking  the  Lord  for  his 
dinner  while  so  many  were  starving.  He  called  this 
a  colossal  affectation,  saying,  "  Thank  your  own  wits, 
if  you  like,  or  your  parents  or  your  employers; 
but  that  you  should  really  thank  the  Lord  is  beyond 
belief."  And  again  he  chid  him  for  praying  to  the 
Lord  for  strength  to  resist  temptation,  saying,  "  You 
may  yield  to  temptation;  others  are  yielding  even 
now.  Is  it  not  surely  the  height  of  presumption  in 
you  to  notify  your  omnipresent  and  omniscient  Lord 
of  the  occasions  upon  which  you  should  be  given 
strength  to  resist?  Did  He  not  endow  you  with 
reason  which  enabled  you  to  recognise  presumption 
and  affectation  and  other  undesirable  acts  in  others ; 
and  is  it  not  by  this  means  that  you  and  your  fellow- 
men  have  risen  from  a  more  brutal  state?"  Peter 
replied  to  these  chidings  that  the  reported  words  of 
the  emissaries  of  his  god  possessed  for  him  sufficient 
evidence  of  inspiration  to  impel  him  to  pray  and  to 
give  thanks  in  accordance  with  their  spirit,  so  far 
as  he  might  understand  it,  and  to  hope  that  the 
perseverence  of  enlightened  and  pure-minded  men 
might  be  the  means  of  an  indefinite  elucidation  of 
those  passages  which  were  now  contradictory  or 
inscrutable.  To  which  John  retorted  that  masses  of 
men  of  an  intelligence  quite  equal  to  Peter's  and  less 
hampered  by  racial  talent  for  success,  were  observ- 


THE   LOVE   OF  TRUTH  355 

ing  more  strictly  the  letter  and  the  spirit  of  their 
faith,  which  was  quite  different  from  Peter's  and 
hostile  to  it ;  furthermore,  that  other  masses  of  men 
of  equal  intelligence  and  practical  usefulness  were 
insensible  of  the  alleged  evidence  of  inspiration  in  the 
written  words  of  either  faith ;  hence,  of  two  different 
faiths  alike  conspicuous  for  their  seeming  denial  of 
that  reason  which  they  signalised  as  a  divine  gift,  it 
was  impossible  to  say  which  was  the  better  or  that 
either  was  helpful  to  its  votaries.  He  then  reminded 
Peter  of  his  religious  upbringing  and  pointed  out 
that  he  was  presumably  incompetent  to  judge  of  the 
alleged  inspiration  of  the  words  of  his  faith,  as  were 
presumably  his  parents  and  his  grandparents  and 
possibly  also  his  entire  ancestry  for  many  generations 
back.  Peter  replied  that  it  was  natural  he  should 
walk  in  the  way  of  his  fathers,  especially  as  he  had 
never  learned  of  a  better.  And  this  ended  the  dis- 
cussion. But  it  was  now  necessary  that  Peter  should 
chide  John  as  to  his  accounts,  which  were  in  a  great 
tangle,  and  John  was  neglecting  them.  Peter 
offered  his  help ;  he  was  able  and  pertinacious ;  and 
the  end  of  the  matter  was  that  John's  accounts  were 
made  up  for  him  by  Peter. 

At  the  meeting  of  a  society  of  learned  men,  a  paper 
was  being  read  to  show  that  Tacitus  and  Suetonius 
had  considerably  exaggerated  the  licentiousness  of 
the  period  of  which  they  wrote.  But  the  reader  had 
not  gone  far  into  the  matter  before  he  was  interrupted 


356         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

by  a  minister  of  the  Christian  religion  who  rose, 
trembling  with  indignation,  and  thus  appealed  to  the 
chair:  "Sir,  I  protest  against  the  reading  before  this 
meeting  of  any  paper  tending  to  palliate  the  vices 
of  imperial  Rome."  Some  dismay  was  apparent 
among  the  coreligionists  of  the  protesting  minister, 
from  which  it  might  have  been  gathered  that  he  was 
a  better  lover  of  truth  in  his  way  than  were  his 
judges,  who  ignored  their  own  less  obvious  cranks 
and  simulations. 

We  smile  when  the  minister,  with  upturned  face, 
delivers  himself  thus:  " Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem, 
0  Lord,  it  is  nevertheless  true.  ..."  Yet  it  is  pre- 
cisely this  sort  of  thing  that  we  are  all  doing  to  our 
gods,  day  in  and  day  out :  insulting  their  omniscience 
with  prayers  not  to  forget  us;  discrediting  their 
omnipotence  with  protestations  of  loyalty  or  hints  of 
virtue  unrewarded  or  sufferings  intolerable ;  accusing 
them  of  vaingloriousness  with  the  idolatry  of  bowed 
head  and  bended  knee.  Aged  degenerates  sun 
themselves,  as  occasion  warrants,  in  the  peace  that  is 
their  Lord's,  when  all  is  turmoil  outside  their  narrow 
circle,  ay  and  outside  the  narrow  interval  in  which 
they  are  permitted  so  to  bask.  Disappointed  women 
hug  their  Saviour  to  their  breasts ;  and,  when  return- 
ing hope  enables  them  to  dispense  with  this  ideal 
comfort,  regard  their  desertion  as  an  act  of  weakness 
indeed,  though  by  no   means  to  be  invalidated. 


THE   LOVE   OF  TRUTH  357 

And  so  on,  ad  infinitum.  For  some  obvious  reason  or 
other  the  doll-like  role  of  divinity  has  never  been  a 
nice  one,  and  nobody  could  ever  have  enjoyed  play- 
ing it  or  expected  to  carry  it,  with  its  rags,  tatters, 
and  stains  of  scratched  and  smudgy  fingers,  beyond 
the  threshold  of  the  nursery. 

The  man  who  said,  "An  honest  god  is  the  noblest 
work  of  man,"  must  —  if  he  had  any  serious  expecta- 
tions in  the  matter  —  have  ignored  one  of  the 
negative  necessities  of  the  case.  For  if  men  are 
themselves  too  timid  for  any  but  the  smallest  and 
rarest  doses  of  theoretical  honesty,  a  god  that  may  be 
set  up  by  any  considerable  number  of  them  must  in- 
evitably lag  far  behind  their  best  thought. 

These  considerations,  like  all  others  of  the  sort, 
bring  us  back  to  nature  —  which,  in  the  case  of  men, 
generally  means  back  to  Fear.  For  it  is  always  the 
dishonesty  arising  from  this  dread  of  death  and 
suffering  that  makes  life  dull  to  the  spectator  and 
distressing  to  the  actor.  The  actor  need  only  be 
mentioned:  he  will  agree  to  much  distress;  whilst 
the  candid  spectator  will  not  pretend  that  the  acts  or 
utterances  of  our  politicians,  jurists,  philanthropists, 
or  men  of  letters  are  in  the  main  interesting.  If  said 
spectator  could  know  everybody  in  the  world,  he 
would  doubtless  find  so  much  of  interest  that  he  could 
at  once  set  about  making  the  world  interesting  to  all 
in  that  degree  of  which  it  is  immediately  capable. 
As  it  is,  he  must  take  the  best  that  is  available  in  the 


358         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

art  of  all  ages,  and  even  then  will  he  be  conscious  of  a 
mighty  void. 

Everybody  can  recall  instances,  similar  to  those 
cited,  of  contrasts  between  the  different  loves  of 
different  truths.  There  are  many  known  shades  of 
theoretical  truth,  and  perhaps  as  many  of  practical 
or  material  truth;  the  contrasts  between  these  two 
classes  of  truth  are  sometimes  very  sharp,  and  there 
is  no  reason  to  believe  that  an  ardent  lover  of  the  one 
will  have  any  conspicuous  attentions  for  the  other. 
The  relative  prominence  of  the  two  motives  in  indi- 
viduals depends,  of  course,  upon  temperament  and 
surroundings;  at  best,  we  know  very  little  even  of 
that  little  which  our  neighbours  pretend  to  know 
about  themselves,  so  that  no  satisfactory  generalisa- 
tion on  the  subject  based  upon  observation  is  possible. 
Certain  theoretical  considerations,  however,  render 
it  probable  that  the  honest  theorist  may  be  just  as 
big  a  practical  liar  as  the  dishonest  theorist  or  as  he 
who  evades  theories  altogether ;  and  especially  that 
he  who  most  signally  misconstrues,  and  so  is  alarmed 
by,  the  implications  of  the  soundest  theory  may  be  a 
relatively  scrupulous  truth-teller  in  the  affairs  of 
actual  life. 

For,  in  the  first  place,  the  honest  theorist  regards 
any  event  from  one  —  or  successively  from  all  — 
of  at  least  three  separate  and  easily  distinguishable 
levels  of  thought.     The  highest  of  these  is  the  level 


THE   LOVE  OF  TRUTH  359 

of  emotional  indifference,  of  abstract  curiosity, — 
what,  for  evolutionary  purposes,  may  be  called  the 
level  of  rational  optimism.  This  level  is  like  the 
summit  of  the  Matterhorn ;  it  is  the  least  frequently 
attained,  life  there  may  not  be  indefinitely  pro- 
longed, and  the  gradations  between  this  and  the  next 
lower  levels  are  the  sharpest.  Far  below  lies  the 
Vispthal,  the  valley  of  everyday  needs,  where  the 
wood  is  to  be  chopped,  the  cheese  to  be  made,  the 
marrying  and  giving  in  marriage.  Here  is  theory 
of  small  account,  and  the  facts  in  any  case  are 
definite  and  significant.  Midway  between  the  two  is 
the  Schwarzsee,  the  level  of  rational  pessimism. 

Now,  the  walk  from  the  Vispthal  to  the  Schwarzsee 
is  an  easy  and  obvious  one ;  the  zealous  walker  ar- 
rives unexpectedly  early  and  may  look  forward  to 
more  such  afternoons  without  number.  But  why 
should  he  desire  repeated  visits  to  this  sombre  lake  ? 
Because,  I  suppose,  he  is  of  the  enterprising  who 
will  not  be  for  ever  shut  in  by  the  unthinkable  walls 
of  Vispthal.  Grim  though  the  Schwarzsee,  it  images 
those  lovely  dazzling  crests  which  are  denied  to  the 
imprisoned  Visp;  and  the  mere  sight  of  these  and 
then  of  Visp,  a  thin,  fuming  futility  in  an  ancient 
cage,  calls  up  the  hidden  hamlet  and  wakes  rebellion 
in  the  breast.  From  hence  the  prospect  is  not  so 
wide  that  the  rude  hut  called  home  may  be  regarded 
calmly  in  its  inevitable  relation  to  the  general 
scheme  of  the  land.     It  is  a  thing  to  be  railed  at, 


360         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

violently  abused ;  to  be  torn  down  and  replaced  by 
a  better  if  possible,  but  at  all  events  to  be  abused : 
foresight  and  common  sense  demand  this. 

In  fact,  the  Vispthal  has  greatly  changed  of  late : 
some  think  for  the  worse ;  I  do  not  agree  with  these. 
Squalor  is  no  longer  there;  the  scanty  pasturage 
and  sparse  fir-woods  are  no  longer  deemed  worthy 
of  attention;  new  architectural  excrescences  have 
appeared,  some  hideous,  others  noisy,  and  these  are 
not  thought  to  be  satisfactory  as  such. 

Certain  it  is  that  habitual  frequenters  of  the 
Schwarzsee  of  pessimism  are  less  likely  to  make  good 
wood-choppers  or  cheese-makers,  head-waiters  or 
railway  guards,  husbands  or  fathers,  than  they 
whose  visits  are  rare  or  forced.  As  to  the  facts  in  any 
case  where  definiteness  is  demanded  by  their  work- 
aday fellows,  they  are  prone  to  be  scornful  of  those 
conditions  of  life  which  make  possible  the  telling  of 
the  obvious  lie  as  well  as  of  the  consequences  of  the 
lie  to  others.  They  show,  furthermore,  a  lack  of 
interest  in  such  truth  as  is  most  commonly  expected 
of  them,  and  are  disposed  to  doubt  if  it  really  serves 
its  purposes.  If  they  are  travellers,  they  know  that 
whenever,  on  returning  from  a  foreign  land,  they  de- 
scribe faithfully  what  they  saw  there  in  the  language 
of  their  own,  they  are  likely  to  convey  essentially 
false  impressions  which  might  have  been  averted  by 
departures  from  the  literal  truth  or  by  judicious 
falsehood.     Or  if  they  are  historians  of  a  bygone 


THE  LOVE   OF  TRUTH  361 

age  or  painters  of  a  landscape  viewed  under  ex- 
ceptional conditions,  or  if  they  are  quite  simply 
narrating  the  most  ordinary  of  occurrences  in  their 
own  day  and  in  their  own  community,  they  are  al- 
ways aware  of  the  impossibility,  when  nothing  like 
the  whole  truth  may  be  known  and  shown,  of  satis- 
factorily serving  the  spirit  of  material  truth  by 
faithful  observance  of  its  obvious  suggestions. 

Hence  they  should  be  more  prone  than  another 
to  lie  themselves  out  of  any  tiresome  difficulty  of 
everyday  existence,  especially  if  the  difficulty  be 
obstructive  of  honest  theorising.  If  they  are  the 
most  honest  and  pertinacious  of  theorists  and  have 
climbed  the  Matterhorn,  they  should  certainly  not 
be  inclined  to  a  turbulent  life,  but  should  instead 
prove  the  most  rational  and  unselfish  of  law-breakers, 
whose  effect  upon  posterity  may  be  incalculable. 

For  it  is  not  by  cheese-making  or  by  wood-chop- 
ping or  by  any  other  manner  of  minding  one's  own 
business  that  reforms  in  thought,  speech,  or  govern- 
ment are  brought  about.  Nor  is  the  business  of 
cheese-making  or  of  governing  even  sufficient  to  sup- 
port itself ;  for  no  amount  of  attention  to  the  busi- 
ness of  either,  through  no  matter  how  many  genera- 
tions of  men,  will  result  in  an  indefinite  improvement 
in  its  products.  For  the  improvement  of  cheeses  or 
of  governments  it  has  been  found  that  violent  abuse 
and  abstract  curiosity  are  alike  indispensable ;  hence 
the  two  levels  of  rational  pessimism  and  rational 


362         THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

optimism  which  are  more  or  less  familiar  to  those 
necessary  adjuncts  of  any  society  called  honest 
theorists. 

From  the  above  considerations  it  would  seem 
inevitable  that  they  who  have  not  breathed  the  pure 
air  and  over-rare  of  the  Matterhorn  should  set  greater 
store  by  the  appearances  of  the  valaisian  life  below ; 
should  make  more  of  their  loves  and  hates;  and 
should  ascribe  a  greater  definiteness  and  importance 
to  immediate  questions  of  fact. 

We  have  now  to  consider  some  of  the  well-known 
menaces  to  theoretical  truth,  to  material  truth, 
and  to  both.  And  let  us  first  examine  in  its 
general  aspect  the  choice  constantly  imposed  upon 
truth-lovers  —  as  we  are  all  of  us  in  our  way  —  be- 
tween conservatism  and  radicalism.  Here  is  a  loaf, 
or  a  wife,  or  a  battle,  whose  fate  depends  upon  my 
decision  of  the  moment.  I  must  act,  —  and  in  a 
way  that  conforms  either  to  the  known  principles, 
egoistical  or  altruistical,  of  my  fathers,  or  else  to  a 
departure,  egoistical  or  altruistical,  from  these  prin- 
ciples that  originated  in  my  own  or  in  some  other 
rebellious  mind. 

Conservatism,  regarded  as  an  end,  not  as  a  means 
to  radical  change,  means  the  clinging  to  that  which 
is  of  necessity  worthless. 

Radicalism  is  essentially  inexact;  its  results  are 
invariably  different  from  its  expectations.     It  means 


THE  LOVE   OF  TRUTH  363 

the  straining  after  that  which  will  prove  either 
retrograde  —  what  we  call  worse  than  worthless  — 
or  else  adaptable  to  practice  in  the  future,  near  or 
remote. 

In  theory  the  choice  is  not  difficult,  for  conserva- 
tism has  no  existence  in  theory. 

But  in  immediate  practice,  seriously  to  espouse 
radicalism  means  to  be  prepared  to  sacrifice  one's 
own  life  and  the  lives  of  both  friends  and  enemies, 
not  because  of  the  nature  of  radicalism,  which  is  the 
law  of  all  nature,  but  because  of  the  inevitable 
opposition  of  conservatism.  One  of  the  tried  con- 
servatist  weapons  that  is  always  turned  against 
the  political  radical  is  that  resounding  catchword 
which  we  have  already  considered  at  some  length  — 
the  "sacredness  of  human  life."  If  the  radical  in 
question  be  a  serious  or  a  determined  one,  the  result 
of  the  conflict  is  generally  war,  death,  and  desolation. 
But  alack,  the  poor  radical !  He  is  more  often 
determined  than  serious,  more  often  frantic  than 
determined ;  and  in  any  case  his  life-prospects  are  not 
bright.  For  he  is  the  rising  man,  generically ;  hence 
the  odds  are  always  heavily  against  him,  individually. 
The  spine  of  human  nature  being  still  of  a  stiffness 
almost  prehistoric,  he  that  bends  it  in  the  slightest 
will  probably  break  his  own  back  in  the  attempt. 

Now,  society,  if  you  like,  is  as  it  should  be :  what 
is  is  right.  But  looking  and  thinking  long  on  this 
Tightness,  you  shall  know  that  if  none  of  us  to-day 


364         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

can  with  decent  composure  make  any  new  experi- 
ment, whether  in  politics,  art,  physics,  or  philan- 
thropy, it  is  because  of  our  blushful  efforts  to  evade 
the  law  of  change. 

Here,  then,  is  an  incentive  of  incentives :  the  in- 
centive to  obey.  Your  greeds,  hates,  and  ambitions 
may  be  the  fiercest  of  the  day:  futile  you  know 
them  in  proportion  to  their  fierceness;  sickly  cold 
with  gratification;  chiefly  significant  in  their  long 
painfulness  and  momentary  bliss,  and  in  the  second 
and  the  third  alternation.  Such  are  the  lives  of 
our  children,  appropriate  to  the  degree  of  their 
experience. 

Backward  into  children,  however,  we  may  not 
grow,  nor  backward  through  the  centuries.  We  may 
not  even  wish  for  this  reversal,  for  we  may  never 
take  the  first  backward  step  in  act  or  in  thought. 
We  may  yearn  to  the  beauty  and  fresh  contrasts  of 
the  child,  knowing  that  these  are  no  more  for  us; 
in  a  marble  Pieta  we  may  recognise  a  power  of 
pathos  that  turns  our  actual  woes  to  flesh-and-blood 
banalities ;  heroic  verse  and  painted  cardinals  — 
do  we  know  of  greater  differences  ?  —  alike  remind 
us  of  the  relative  drabness  of  our  age.  But  modern 
maturity  once  attained,  we  find  that  nothing  is 
possible  but  a  still  more  modern  maturity  in  which, 
indeed,  childhood  and  heroism  may  become  to  us 
more  vivid,  but  inevitably  and  desirably  from  the 
view-point  of  maturity  and  modernity.    We  literally 


THE  LOVE   OF  TRUTH  365 

could  not  exist  in  the  days  of  the  marble  Pieta ;  the 
blessing  of  any  cardinal  who  might  be  painted  so 
wondrously  would  doubtless  consign  us  to  our  graves. 

Thus  we  may  dwell  fondly  on  the  remotest,  and  in 
the  eyes  of  our  neighbour  perhaps  the  most  unlikely, 
of  consummations ;  we  may  confidently  believe  that 
the  last  and  best  of  knowers  will  know  our  heroes  and 
cardinals  far  better  than  they  knew  themselves ;  but 
we  may  not  desire  an  impossibility.  And  the  more 
completely  we  succeed  in  bringing  forward  our  past 
for  future  contemplation,  the  more  abhorrent  be- 
comes the  futility  of  a  retrogression  into  this  past. 

To  recur,  now,  for  a  moment  to  one  of  the  most 
conspicuous  and  indispensable  of  our  childlike 
eccentricities  which  is  aptly  described  in  the  words 
of  the  poet : 

"Lead  me  to  the  precipice, 
And  bid  me  leap  the  dark  abyss : 

I  care  not  what  the  danger  be, 
So  my  beloved,  my  beauteous  vision, 

Be  but  the  prize  I  bear  with  me, 
For  she  to  Paradise  can  turn  Perdition." 

He  who  has  escaped  the  sublime  egoism  of  this 
mania  has  missed  the  best  there  is  in  the  actual 
living  of  life  and  will  doubtless  be  suitably  recom- 
pensed after  the  dying  of  death.  It  is  said  that 
certain  exceptional  individuals  have  maintained 
emotion  upon  the  plane  of  this  stanza  throughout 
a  considerable  portion  of  their  lives.  These,  then, 
have  other  things  to  learn;    but,  to  the  rest  of  us, 


366         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

one  of  the  most  interesting  feats  of  knowledge  will 
be  the  ascertaining  of  the  quality  of  that  past  ex- 
perience which  has  made  possible  such  a  monotony 
of  egoism.  The  poet  himself  seems  to  regard  it  as 
of  exceptional  occurrence,  for  he  has  much  advice 
to  give  of  the  following  nature : 

"If  thou  the  love  of  the  world  for  thyself  wouldst  gain, 
mould  thy  breast 
Liker  the  world  to  become,  for  its  like  the  world  loveth 
best." 

Repeatedly  to  vaunt  the  uses  of  philosophy  is 
perhaps  presumptuous,  yet  not  altogether  without 
benefit.  Philosophy,  as  is  well  known,  may  also 
scorn  the  precipice  and  again,  like  love,  turn  pale. 
A  comparison  of  the  two  influences  in  average  men 
of  to-day  would  doubtless  reveal  love's  triumph  the 
oftenest;  yet  lovers  and  philosophers  have  already 
said  enough  to  convince  us  that  the  conflict  wavers 
with  the  point  of  view,  —  point  of  view  of  the  indi- 
vidual, point  of  view  of  the  moment.  Let  him  who 
witnesseth  the  exaltation  of  the  one  to  the  abasement 
of  the  other  expect  at  any  moment  a  reversal  of 
fortunes. 

Now,  the  scope  of  theory,  based  upon  the  first 
principle  of  continuous  change,  is  unlimited;  it 
may  dispel  any  superstition  whatsoever.  But  such 
theory  must  generally  be  kept  to  the  theorist.  In 
certain  past  ages  theory  might  do  no  more  than 
supplant   one   superstition   with   another.    In   the 


THE  LOVE   OF  TRUTH  367 

present  age,  when  the  best  thought  is  scientific,  new 
superstitions  have  indeed  comparatively  little  chance 
of  taking  root ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  first  principles 
must  be  generally  neglected.  Doctrines  that  have 
originated  anywhere  but  in  a  remote  past  or  an  up- 
to-date  laboratory  are  regarded  as  either  dull  or 
dangerous.  For  attacking  the  most  interesting  of 
all  problems,  and  the  one  bearing  the  most  power- 
fully upon  every  detail  of  our  daily  life,  one-half 
the  world  equips  itself  with  well-seasoned  supersti- 
tions, the  other  half  with  well-oiled  machines. 
First-principle  theory,  though  aware  of  their  incom- 
petence without  her  aid,  is  never  lacking  in  gratitude 
to  both  machines  and  superstitions  which  supply 
her  with  varied  incentives.  She  must,  however,  be 
content  with  scant  recognition  in  return.  Neither 
in  church  nor  in  college  is  there  fostering  of  the 
curious  mind  that  has  not  for  the  subject  of  its  re- 
search some  visible,  tangible  thing,  as  a  book  or  a 
brachiopod.  The  remoteness  of  reality  and  differ- 
ences of  opinion  as  to  the  knowable  cause  us  to 
instruct  our  intelligent  youth  to  confine  their  efforts 
to  the  business  of  improving  their  knowledge  of 
that  which  we  call  fact.  We  think  them  safer  thus, 
and,  according  to  most  machinists  and  superstition- 
ists,  we  are  all  in  a  highly  precarious  situation  at  any 
time.  This  task  of  improving  their  knowledge  of 
"the  known"  upon  which  we  start  our  patient  youth, 
requires  that  they  shall  brush  past  some  of  the  most 


368         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

obvious  implications  of  this  known  which  might  lure 
them  into  by-paths  where  wise  men  fear  to  tread. 
Not  even  shall  their  leisure  moments  be  given  to  such 
unprofitable  and  possibly  perilous  excursions;  far 
better  that  they  devote  them  to  rhetoric,  that  most 
tried  exorcist  of  importunate  queries.  Thus  it  is 
that  politics  and  faith  alike  are  approached  with  that 
lack  of  seriousness  and  excess  of  gravity  which  are  so 
conspicuous  in  our  intellectual  life. 

Theory  at  the  political  dinner  table  requires  a 
sleeve  to  smile  in ;  otherwise  the  bones  of  scorn  and 
reprobation  will  assuredly  be  flung  at  her  head. 
Time  and  again  has  she  made  bold  to  tell  both  politi- 
cians and  machinists  that  the  eye  is  the  deceiver,  the 
mind  the  corrector;  that  what  is  most  distinctly 
visible  or  solidly  palpable  is  ipso  facto  most  conspicu- 
ously illusory;  that  not  alone  by  the  weighing  of 
policies  and  the  measuring  of  energy  may  they  ever 
come  to  that  apprehension  of  the  imponderable  and 
immeasurable  which  will  strengthen  and  enhance 
all  their  material  activities;  that  to  every  fallacy 
in  their  dreams,  a  score  invade  each  waking  moment. 
She  is  perhaps  not  denied ;  is  sometimes  even  assented 
to.  But  rhetoric  then  wags  her  to  the  foot  of  the 
table  with  a  mighty  swish  of  glowing  axioms,  rudi- 
ments of  knowledge;  and  finally  he  says,  "All  this 
you  say  is  neither  here  nor  there/'  only  in  a  humorous 
and  pungent  manner  defying  contradiction.  For  the 
snubbing  of  theory  is  often  a  side-splitting  perform- 


THE   LOVE   OF  TRUTH  369 

ance,  in  the  course  of  which  even  superstitions  may 
be  cheerfully  forgotten. 

The  flow  of  words,  rhetorical  and  otherwise,  from 
friendly  sources  and  hostile,  to  which  theory  is  at  all 
times  exposed,  constitutes  another  serious  menace 
to  her  existence  upon  Earth.  Leaving  out  of  account 
the  inevitable  self-assertiveness  of  man,  the  current 
justification  of  such  extreme  loquacity  is  that  by 
this  means  useful  ideas  are  developed.  It  is  to  be 
observed,  however,  that  so  many  words  have  already 
been  spoken  and  copied  into  books  that  numbers  of 
our  learned  ones  declare  they  never  hear  anything 
novel.  They  may  believe  the  novel  to  be  there, 
some  of  it  in  their  own  minds ;  but  when  it  comes  to 
be  uttered,  it  somehow  gets  diverted  into  ancient 
channels  of  speech  which  conceal  its  identity. 
Hence  theory  protests  in  self-defence  that  if  our 
youth  were  counselled  to  think  twice  before  speaking 
instead  of  speaking  twice  in  the  hope  of  an  idea,  — 
the  latter  being  the  general  practice  of  their  fathers 
in  attacking  any  but  the  most  immediately  personal 
questions, —  their  conversation  might  indefinitely 
gain  new  advantages  of  utility  and  vivacity. 

Another  renowned  and  mighty  foe  to  theory  is 
what  we  call,  perhaps  not  altogether  fairly,  "the 
wisdom  of  age."  Young  people  seem  often  to 
possess  it  in  marked  degree.  However,  a  genius 
grown  old  is  apt  to  lose  much  of  his  desire  for  a 
" clean  sweep"  of  existing  institutions.    His  judg- 

2b 


370         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

ment  may  have  grown  less  robust,  and  he  may  have 
received  honours  and  wealth,  i.e.  grown  into  the 
habit  of  living  the  life  that  is  made  for  him  rather 
than  the  life  that  was  his  mature  choice.  How  to 
prevent  a  loss  of  robustness  of  judgment  with 
advancing  years  is  indeed  a  difficult  problem  which 
will  not  here  be  discussed.  To  the  genius,  however, 
one  aid  to  a  happy  decline  would  be  his  resolution  to 
accept  as  few  prescriptions  as  possible  from  them 
who  are  so  clearly  in  need  of  his  own  prescriptions. 

The  genius  or  wisdom  of  old  age,  as  we  generally 
know  it  in  fact,  is  a  canny  wisdom  less  likely,  for 
example,  to  plunge  a  nation  into  civil  strife  than  is 
the  genius  of  youth.  The  narrower  term  of  remaining 
life  appears  to  conduce  to  a  narrower  view  of  poster- 
ity and  to  a  higher  estimate  of  the  importance  of 
immediate  concerns.  Hence,  amongst  a  race  that 
has  not  attained  to  as  rational  a  view  of  death  as 
is  immediately  within  its  reach,  the  wisdom  of  age 
is  naturally  approved  in  the  cooler  moments  of 
youth  and  age  alike. 

Now,  the  "clean  sweep,"  as  has  been  pointed  out, 
will  leave  the  stable  still  very  dirty,  far  from  Utopian. 
But,  such  as  it  is,  it  is  perfectly  certain  to  come; 
it  is  likely,  moreover,  to  be  pretty  rapid  and  thor- 
ough according  to  its  lights.  For,  once  morality 
is  seriously  and  generally  discredited,  the  spirit  of 
compromise  is  done  for,  and  every  existing  institu- 
tion from  architecture  to  education  must  be  entirely 


THE   LOVE   OF  TRUTH  371 

reformed.  May  the  genius,  then,  whether  musical 
or  political,  stick  to  his  clean  sweep  through  thick 
and  thin,  through  youth  and  old  age ;  only  by  this 
means  may  his  characteristic  sanity  and  common 
sense  be  preserved,  to  say  nothing  of  his  peace  of 
mind.  Our  civilisation  is  certainly  not  worth  taking 
for  granted,  and  they  who  take  it  so  are  much  worse 
off  than  the  others  who  fall  in  the  course  of  attacks 
upon  its  strongholds.  Root  and  branch,  everything 
is  worse  than  it  need  be.  What  more  obvious  than 
to  make  it  all  better  ? 

But  one  more  of  the  many  obstacles  in  the  path 
of  knowledge  will  here  be  mentioned.  This  one  is 
older  than  history,  though  its  proportions  vary  from 
age  to  age.  To  some  who  are  spoken  of  as  profiting 
by  it,  it  remains  invisible.  Others  who  are  spoken 
of  as  being  especially  hindered  by  it  are  sometimes 
roused  to  fury  by  the  sight  of  it.  Even  the  conspicu- 
ously dishonest  make  capital  out  of  their  assaults 
upon  it ;  and  probably  no  philosopher  worthy  of  the 
name  has  omitted  at  some  time  or  other  to  rant  at  it 
like  a  very  demagogue.  By  it  the  way  is  barred 
to  each  separate  column  of  truth ;  theoretical  truth, 
the  letter  of  material  truth,  the  spirit  of  material 
truth.  Every  colour  of  practical  honesty  and  dis- 
honesty is  rallied  to  its  defence,  and  in  the  attacking 
army  are  their  blood-brothers. 

Of  so  celebrated  an  excrescence  in  the  rugged 
surface  of  human  affairs  it  is  hardly  to  be  expected 


372         THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

that  anything  essentially  novel  should  now  be  said. 
It  is  well,  though,  to  go  on  reiterating  its  rightful 
name  which  is  the  fear  of  a  too  sudden  abolition  or 
reapportionment  of  the  material  prizes  of  civilisa- 
tion.    Its  victims  are  the  greater  portion,  though  by 
no  means  all,  of  those  who  possess  a  considerable 
property  or  influence.     Amongst  them  are  a  handful 
of  individuals  competent,  by  training,  opportunity, 
and  inclination,  to  organise  and  control  the  govern- 
ments of  peoples;    and  these  few  protect  and  are 
protected  by  the  numbers  of  their  class  which  in- 
cludes   all    the    spendthrifts,    misers,    drones,    and 
respectable   nonentities,   as   well   as   most   of   the 
rhetoricians,   of  the   Earth.      Nearly  all  of   them 
have  received  the  education  belonging  to  the  age, 
and  their  wealth  enlists  in  their  service  both  edu- 
cated and  uneducated  outsiders  who  do  not  approve 
of  the  other  uses  of  this  wealth. 

Whether  a  considerable  curtailment  of  the  material 
and  social  privileges  of  this  class  would,  at  the  present 
stage  of  human  development,  mean  political  and 
social  anarchy  until  another  such  class  arose,  is  a 
question  often  publicly  discussed  by  its  members, 
most  of  whom,  however,  do  not  need  to  put  this 
question  seriously  to  themselves,  the  personal  motive 
sufficing  to  determine  both  action  and  utterance. 
It  is  not,  of  course,  that  they  are  pre-eminently  happy 
in  their  eminence,  but  that  they  dread  the  misery 
of  poverty,  loss  of  influence,  or  death,  for  themselves 


THE   LOVE   OF  TRUTH  373 

or  for  their  friends.  For  there  are  many  among 
them  who  would  fear  but  little  for  themselves  alone ; 
and  with  these  it  is  the  thought  of  family  and  friends 
which  enables  them  to  overlook  the  greater  and 
actual  misery  of  others. 

Now,  a  little  knowledge  is  perhaps  a  dangerous 
thing;  but  the  unfortunate  point  about  these 
privileged  victims  is  that  the  bigger  and  newer  the 
knowledge  the  more  dangerous  does  it  appear  to 
them.  Any  discovery,  whether  in  a  book  or  a  brachi- 
opod,  which,  though  avowedly  partial  and  unpreten- 
tious, makes,  nevertheless,  an  advance  in  knowledge 
sufficiently  great  to  entail  some  overhauling  of  gen- 
eral conceptions,  may  indirectly  exert  a  considerable 
influence  upon  stocks,  tithes,  and  elections.  Hence 
this  renowned  and  world-old  conspiracy  of  wealth 
and  power,  this  stanch  fraternal  despotism  which 
often  relishes  the  strenuous  lashing  of  the  dema- 
gogue but  misdoubts  the  patient  tapping  of  the 
investigator. 

It  is  doubtful  if,  for  some  time  past,  the  conspira- 
tors have  exchanged  so  much  as  a  wink  or  a  nod. 
The  wink  and  the  nod  are  of  a  humiliating  vulgar- 
ity besides  being  wholly  unnecessary.  Even  those 
supporters  of  the  old  regime  who  are  unaware  that 
any  conspiracy  exists  have  come  to  behave  auto- 
matically in  a  manner  that  furthers  its  purposes. 
Such  incurious  optimists  are,  for  the  most  part,  on 
the  outskirts  of  their  class ;  and  even  theory,  to  say 


374         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

nothing  of  demagogues,  must  preach  at  them  that 
they  are  of  no  more  avail  for  bettering  the  condition 
of  the  race,  their  descendants,  than  are  those  pessi- 
mists that  gape  or  howl  at  every  obstacle.  Such 
incurious  optimists  will  never  climb  the  Matterhorn. 
Human  life  upon  Earth  is  made  possible  by  pessi- 
mism ;  if  we  have  none  of  this,  we  must  get  some,  or 
else  degenerate  —  die  of  our  own  stagnation  before 
death  overtakes  us. 

The  ambitious  efforts  of  our  eminent  brethren  to 
evade  the  law  of  change  are  doubtless  a  fit  subject 
for  ridicule  which,  however,  requires  a  transcendental 
wit  to  wield  it.  While  to  jest  of  the  hereafter  to 
those  who  are  mourning  their  dead  is  in  bad  taste; 
while  the  unhappiness  of  the  rich  is  so  far  from 
despicable  that  millions  make  it  their  sole  aim  in 
life;  while  those  who  attend  political  gatherings 
look  for  thunderous  oratory  to  play  about  the  surface 
of  their  complaints,  but  are  stunned  and  angry  if  the 
lightning  strikes  near  their  individual  homes ;  finally, 
while  licensed  educators  believe  in  their  impotence, 
as  they  doubt  their  willingness,  to  surround  these 
view-points  with  the  impassable  barriers  of  theory, 
—  so  long  will  the  earnest  reformer  be  constrained 
to  don  the  gravity  of  the  judge  or,  at  best,  the  grave 
playfulness  of  the  diner-out;  otherwise  his  efforts 
will  probably  be  construed  as  an  intellectual  exercise 
whimsically  indulged  in  for  his  own  amusement  and 
not  to  be  seriously  considered  in  connexion  with  the 


THE   LOVE   OF  TRUTH  375 

stern  business  of  life.  But  even  with  gravity  donned 
and  fitting  like  a  glove,  his  task,  whether  congenial 
or  not,  will  certainly  be  an  arduous  one.  If,  for 
example,  he  points  out  the  starving  drunkard  and 
his  invalid  children,  and  pessimistically  desires  af- 
fluence and  influence  to  bring  about  the  impartial 
chloroforming  of  both,  it  is  more  than  likely  that  the 
finger  of  influence  will  be  laid  on  the  nose,  the  hand 
of  affluence  thrust  in  the  pocket,  and  the  result  will 
be  a  meal  for  the  drunkard  and  a  home  for  his  and 
other  invalid  children.  Where  affluence  and  in- 
fluence are  concerned,  ocular  evidence  is  the  thing. 


CHAPTER  IX 

STYLE    AND   THE   PHILOSOPHY 

I  began  with  certainties ;  i.e.  my  first  two  chapters 
contained  little  else  than  statements  of  the  ultimate 
principle  of  Change  and  accounts  of  its  origin  in 
thought.  In  the  third  chapter  I  was  also  dealing 
with  this  certainty  which  enabled  me  definitively 
to  remove  from  consideration  such  questions  as  the 
Whence,  the  Why,  and  the  What  of  the  universe. 
But  much  the  greatest  portion  of  this  chapter  was 
devoted  to  the  How  of  the  universe,  and  here  I  was 
treating  of  particular  probabilities  and  possibilities  — 
logically  and  mathematically  so  far  as  logic  and 
mathematics  might  apply;  the  first  principle  being 
invoked  whenever  logic  and  mathematics  pointed  to 
it  directly. 

The  subject-matter  of  the  remaining  chapters  has, 
for  the  most  part,  been  of  a  still  more  particular  or 
speculative  character.  In  these  chapters  the  facts 
of  life  have  been  considered  in  a  relation  more 
immediate  than  that  of  their  ultimate  basis  or  impli- 
cations. Here  again  the  logical  method  is  seen  at 
work,  checked  from  time  to  time  by  ultimate  theory : 

376 


STYLE  AND  THE   PHILOSOPHY         377 

the  results  may  be  roughly  summarised  in  the 
equation, 

Rational  Life  =  Fact  l-^.    ,  ^  . — r-r-)- 

\Jbirst  Principle/ 

The  data,  of  course,  are  dubious :  Fact  being  invari- 
ably illusory  except  as  a  whole ;  Logic,  a  delightful 
and  indispensable  factor  but  with  vexatious  limita- 
tions imposed  by  the  necessity  that  all  existence 
possesses  ultimate  significance;  First  Principle, 
unimpeachable  in  itself  but  reserved  and  taciturn 
in  the  company  of  an  embryonic  race.  Hence  the 
most  plausible  exposition  of  a  rational  life  may  not 
be  invested  with  an  extreme  degree  of  probability. 

The  above  recapitulation  is  by  way  of  disclaiming 
an  absolute  intent  in  such  phrases  as  "It  is  certain" 
when  applied  to  events  that  are  expected  to  happen 
within  a  definite  period  of  time.  I  have  not  used 
"It  is  nearly  certain"  or  "It  is  highly  probable" 
in  such  cases  because  I  have  meant  to  indicate  the 
degree  of  probability  that  is  commonly  expressed  by 
"It  is  certain."  Every  "It  is  certain"  now  in 
literature  will  eventually  have  to  be  eaten,  and  I  do 
not  wish  to  suggest  that  mine  will  be  the  first  to  go. 
The  one  absolute  certainty  has  been  so  often  and 
variously  stated  in  the  course  of  these  pages  that 
ambiguity  can  hardly  arise  from  my  adoption  of 
the  usual  practice. 

I  have  also  thought  that  the  freer,  less  rigorous, 
manner  of  treatment  of  the  later  and  more  speculative 


378         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   CHANGE 

portions  of  the  work  would  be  more  readily  compre- 
hensible in  the  light  of  such  a  recapitulation.  Of 
course  I  have  not  meant  to  imply  that  policies  of 
education,  government,  philanthropy,  etc.,  should 
not  be  painstakingly  developed.  What  I  have 
indeed  meant  to  imply  is  that  the  policies  now  most 
urgently  in  demand  and  most  painstakingly  to  be 
developed  are  destructive  in  character;  that  the 
first  article  in  any  programme  should  be  a  disavowal 
of  any  seemingly  positive  or  permanent  elements 
in  this  programme;  that  any  programme  for  the 
adults  of  the  race  should  be  rated  the  higher  as  there 
is  less  of  discipline  and  government  in  it. 

Three  more  points  in  the  literary  style  of  this  work 
should  perhaps  be  explained. 

LONG   SENTENCES 

Given  language  (or,  at  any  rate,  the  English 
language)  as  it  is,  a  natural  deduction  from  this 
philosophy  would  seem  to  be  that  the  terser  or 
pithier  the  phrase,  the  lower  its  value.  Catchwords 
and  striking  labels  must  be  eschewed  and  all  terms 
taken  with  plenty  of  salt.  I  cannot  place  unbounded 
confidence  in  this  deduction ; *  but  I  am  tolerably 
certain  that,  for  any  satisfactory  exposition  of  this 
philosophy,  long  sentences  must  be  the  main  depend- 
ence. 

1  Modesty  should  prevent  me  from  giving,  as  a  reason  for  this 
doubt,  my  humble  belief  that  I  was  a  very  bad  writer. 


STYLE   AND  THE   PHILOSOPHY         379 

When  our  minds  are  constantly  liable  to  wander 
from  the  printed  page,  it  is  the  terse  or  pithy  phrase 
that  has  the  best  chance  of  fixing  the  attention  and 
impressing  the  memory;  and  conversely,  long  sen- 
tences, even  when  constructed  with  the  utmost  care, 
are  apt  to  prove  troublesome  to  the  reader  unless  the 
subject-matter  is  of  absorbing  interest.  Here,  I 
suspect,  is  one  of  the  unresolved  discords  of  all  phi- 
losophy, and  the  resolution  of  it  should  prove  an 
engrossing  task  to  future  writers. 

THE    GENERIC   "WE" 

I  can  imagine  a  conventional  philosopher  or  scorn- 
ful critic  saying  of  me,  "The  author  makes  a  free  and 
altogether  unjustifiable  use  of  the  generic  'we.' 
He  assures  us  that '  we  regard  as  out  of  the  question ' 
certain  contingencies  which,  I  must  protest,  we  do 
in  fact  regard  as  quite  within  the  bounds  of  possi- 
bility. We  are  told  that  'we  cannot  accept  the 
traditional  explanation  of  this  occurrence '  when  it  is 
precisely  the  traditional  explanation  of  it  that  most 
of  us  do  accept." 

I  should  expect  such  comments  as  these  from  any 
who  had  funked  the  first  three  chapters  of  the  book 
and  begun  attentively  with  what  they  regarded  as 
its  sole  practical  outcome.  And  from  others  who 
had  made  a  conscientious  effort  to  read  the  whole 
book  I  should  perhaps  expect  the  following:  "The 
generic  'we'  is  here  seen  in  the  most  curious  and 


380        THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHANGE 

kaleidoscopic  combinations.  On  one  page  'we'  are 
the  stout  adherents  of  the  most  incredibly  radical 
dogma,  and  on  the  next,  lo  !  'we'  have  become  Tory 
in  the  extreme,  the  bitterest  opponents  of  our  earlier 
belief.  Who,  pray,  are  these  mysterious  'we'  of 
the  topsy-turvy  ideas  who  are  as  ready  to  repudiate 
these  ideas  on  one  occasion  as  to  proclaim  them  in- 
evitable on  another?  Would  not  the  author  have 
been  wiser  to  have  spoken  for  himself?" 

From  their  respective  points  of  view  I  must  admit 
the  justice  of  these  remarks,  so  far  as  they  go;  I 
decline,  however,  to  accept  the  smallest  personal 
responsibility  for  the  incongruities  alleged. 

For,  in  the  first  place,  I  must  declare  that  to  say 
"we  perceive  this  or  that  to  be  inevitable,"  when  the 
point  is  a  disputed  one,  is  merely  to  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  conventional  philosophers.  History  and 
conventional  philosophy  have  utterly  failed  to  prove 
—  or  to  show  even  the  slightest  probability  —  that 
the  numerical  strength  of  its  adherents  is  an  index  of 
the  soundness  of  a  doctrine.  Hence,  without  need- 
ing to  reaffirm  the  conclusion  on  this  point  which 
is  to  be  drawn  from  these  pages,  I  feel  at  perfect 
liberty  to  speak  generically  of  "us"  when  we  are 
only  two,  or  even  when  the  plural  must  be  referred 
to  the  future.  The  unjustifiable  generic  "we"  being 
established  in  philosophical  writing,  it  becomes  on 
the  whole  desirable  for  any  particular  writer  to  adopt 
it ;  otherwise  his  readers  will  be  distracted  by  pages 


STYLE  AND  THE  PHILOSOPHY         381 

bristling  with  unusual  I's,  rae's,  and  my's,  or  con- 
fused by  long  circumlocutions  which,  after  all,  must 
fail  to  meet  the  requirements  of  particular  cases. 

And  finally,  I  must  impute  all  blame  for  the  capri- 
cious behaviour  of  my  generic  "we"  to  the  genus 
itself,  homo.  In  doing  so,  I  am  guilty  of  another 
apparent  inconsistency.  As  thus:  if  I  regard  my- 
self as  deserving  of  expression  through  the  generic 
"we"  just  as  much  as  any  sect,  nation,  or  race, 
because  my  perceptions  and  inferences  may  be  just 
as  good  as  theirs,  why  should  I  demand  tolerance 
for  the  caprices  and  self-contradictions  of  this  same 
generic  "we"? 

But  if  any  conclusion  may  safely  be  drawn  from 
the  later  and  more  speculative  chapters  of  this 
work,  it  is  this:  that  the  life  of  each  individual 
member  of  the  human  race  must  inevitably  shift 
from  one  rational  level  to  another,  thence  to  a  third 
and  back  to  the  first,  and  so  forth,  all  levels  being 
mutually  irreconcilable  according  to  any  practical 
philosophy.  If  you  are  of  us  humans,  you  must 
take  our  history  for  granted ;  being  a  man,  you 
must  partake  in  some  degree  of  the  advantages  and 
disadvantages  of  genus  homo. 

In  the  fourth  chapter,  Reason  was  the  name  given 
to  the  motive  force  of  human  life:  the  essence  of 
appetites,  quarrels,  philosophies  was  to  be  regarded 
as  the  process  of  putting  two  and  two  together.  If 
you  are  a  bigoted  Tory,  you  are  constantly  putting 


382         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

two  and  two  together  —  as,  for  example,  Somebody 
gave  me  this  land;  I  seem  to  be  living  on  it  more 
comfortably  than  I  could  otherwise  live :  hence,  the 
practice  of  giving  land  is  a  thing  to  be  upheld.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  you  are  an  incredible  radical,  you  are 
putting  two  and  two  together  in  such  wise  that  you 
are  pretty  certain  to  upset  the  Tory's  reasoning 
sooner  than  your  own.  But  you  are  undoubtedly 
at  a  disadvantage  if  you  forget  that  you  are  a  man, 
genus  homo,  and  that  consequently  there  is  Tory  in 
your  make-up.  For  somebody  else  is  sure  to  dis- 
cover where  lie  your  intolerance,  your  snobbishness, 
obstinacy,  loyalty,  tender-heartedness,  and  supersti- 
tions, and  so  you  will  suffer  a  loss  of  confidence. 

To  confess  to  Tory  proclivities  is  a  highly  becom- 
ing proceeding  in  any  radical.  It  is  not  only  in- 
trinsically the  most  rational  confession  possible  but 
it  implies  the  admission  that  Toryism  is  not  incred- 
ible. Hence  it  is  an  effective  weapon  against  the 
Tory  who  is  unaware  that  he  is  primarily  a  radical ; 
and  with  its  aid  you  will  avoid  those  moments  of 
disillusionment  during  which  the  ignorant  Tory  might 
otherwise  buy  you  off. 

I  have  not  undertaken  to  assign  definite  values  to 
the  different  levels  of  reason.  Of  two  different  views 
of  the  same  particular  problem  of  life  I  do  not  pretend 
to  say  that  one  is  necessarily  more  rational  than  the 
other.  But  the  probabilities  in  every  particular 
case  reviewed  in  these  pages  have,  I  believe,  been 


STYLE   AND   THE   PHILOSOPHY         383 

indicated  clearly  enough.  I  have  myself,  at  different 
times,  taken  seriously  all  the  beliefs  that  have  been 
mentioned  and  am  prepared  to  see  their  ghosts  rise 
up  before  me  at  any  moment. 

THE  RATIONALE  OF  DIGNITY 

In  the  exposition  of  a  philosophy  that  deals  with 
the  facts  of  daily  life  mainly  under  general  heads, 
it  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  occasions  for  the  use 
of  colloquial,  slangy,  or  any  other  conspicuously 
ephemeral  expressions  should  often  present  them- 
selves. It  is,  however,  entirely  in  consonance  with 
the  principle  of  continuity  that  such  occasions, 
when  presented,  should  be  embraced.  And,  the 
more  ephemeral  or  speculative  the  subject-matter, 
the  more  pointedly  do  colloquialisms  suggest  them- 
selves. 

But  for  a  certain  consideration  presently  to  be 
mentioned,  it  would  seem  rather  curious  that  writers 
of  serious  works  went  in  so  little  for  colloquialisms. 
One  of  the  best-known  facts  in  history  is  that  our 
languages  are  all  founded  on  colloquialisms  and  that 
it  is  entirely  the  chance  of  a  passing  taste  that  pre- 
serves certain  colloquialisms  longer  than  others. 
Just  as  it  is  impossible  for  any  evolutionary  race  to 
set  up  a  marble  hero  as  a  model  of  manly  beauty  for 
all  time,  so  is  it  impossible — and  still  more  obviously 
so  —  that  we  of  to-day  should  have  chosen  to  cling  to 
those  particular  idioms  which  appealed  to  our  fore- 


384         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

fathers  of  thirty  generations  ago.  A  changing  idiom, 
too,  is  supposed  to  be  the  mark  of  a  progressive 
civilisation,  the  more  barbarous  races  retaining  their 
idiom  intact  for  comparatively  long  periods. 

But  idiom,  we  are  told  —  and  doubtless  wisely  — 
should  not  change  too  rapidly;  for  one  thing,  con- 
fusion would  then  be  produced  in  all  the  business  of 
life.  We  are  told,  furthermore,  that  it  should 
change  according  to  a  reasoned  appreciation  of  the 
changing  needs  of  life  and  thought.  This,  of  course, 
it  has  never  done.  It  has,  instead,  changed  in 
obedience  to  an  authority  in  which  the  best  even  of 
current  aesthetic  principles  have  counted  for  little, 
whilst  the  most  vulgar  of  fashionable  whims  have 
counted  for  much.  All  things  considered,  the  most 
obvious  course  to  pursue  is  to  submit  language  to  the 
purgative  process  that  was  outlined  in  my  seventh 
chapter.  This  means  the  reversal  of  the  existing 
system  of  imposing  restraint  on  others  as  well  as  on 
oneself  in  the  choice  of  words  and  construction 
of  phrases.  It  means  the  repudiation  of  all  those 
various  attitudes  which  have  arrogated  to  them- 
selves the  name  of  dignity. 

Here  we  encounter  our  ancient  foe  in  another  of 
its  many  guises.  For  the  rationale  of  dignity  is  the 
fear  of  death. 

An  assumption  of  dignity,  whether  natural,  habit- 
ual, or  forced,  must  place  an  added  and  unnecessary 
limit  to  the  merit  of  any  serious  performance.    For 


STYLE   AND  THE   PHILOSOPHY         385 

it  brings  into  the  performance  an  element  that  is  not 
only  ultimately  lacking  in  relevance  but  is  certain 
eventually  to  defeat  its  own  immediate  purpose. 
This  element  is  the  consideration,  How  will  the  per- 
formance be  regarded  by  other  people  ?  In  a  per- 
fectly serious  performance,  —  i.e.  in  the  practice  of 
an  art  for  its  own  sake,  —  we  have  seen  (Chap.  II) 
that  such  a  consideration  could  have  no  place. 
So  much  for  the  theoretical  objection  to  dignity. 

The  more  immediate  practical  objections  are  many; 
here  are  two  of  the  important  ones. 

No  matter  what  I  may  be  trying  to  do  seriously, 
I  am  serving  neither  the  art  itself  nor  its  votaries  nor 
the  general  public  if  I  merely  avoid  obsolete  bar- 
barisms and  endeavour  studiously  or  passionately  to 
produce  a  new  example  in  accordance  with  the  best 
established  canons  of  taste. 

If  I  am  seriously  composing  a  symphony,  I  may 
not  attempt  merely  to  excel  Beethoven  in  his  own 
field.  Perhaps  this  would  be  practically  impossible, 
and  an  interesting  question  is  whether  it  would  also 
be  theoretically  impossible.  But,  supposing  it  to  be 
actually  possible,  I  must  nevertheless  try  to  improve 
upon  music  as  Beethoven  and  all  subsequent  com- 
posers have  known  it.  I  may  incidentally  try  to 
out-Beethoven  Beethoven,  but  this  phase  of  my 
work  must  be  explicitly  qualified.  Any  symphony 
seriously  conceived  and  executed  by  me  must  unmis- 
takably contain  new  subject-matter  or  a  new  mode  of 


386         THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

treatment,  or  both.  I  am  certain,  then,  both  to 
offend  and  to  modify  the  musical  taste  of  the  day. 
If  I  offend  it  much,  I  may  modify  it  much  or  little ; 
but  if  I  modify  it  much,  I  must  offend  it  much. 
However  slight  or  fleeting  the  offence,  I  shall  pro- 
duce at  least  a  momentary  impression  equivalent  to 
that  produced  by  an  obsolete  barbarism  —  the  im- 
pression of  something  out  of  place,  not  belonging  to 
the  art.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  my  symphony  quite 
fails  to  offend  the  musical  taste  of  the  day,  I  am 
assuredly  not  a  serious  but  a  futile  musician.  For  I 
shall  have  stated  explicitly  that,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  the  musical  art  is  penned  in  by  an  im- 
passable barrier.  And  my  dignified  consideration, 
How  will  this  performance  be  regarded  by  other 
people  ?  must  eventually  be  answered  by  these  people 
in  one  of  two  ways :  either  he  is  no  musician  or  the 
days  of  musical  art  are  numbered. 

Similarly,  if  I  skate  with  unfailing  reserve  and 
self-control,  my  performance  will  doubtless  be  more 
dignified  than  if  I  fling  arms  and  legs  about  in  in- 
discriminate fashion.  But  if  I  do  not  eventually 
depart  from  my  reserve,  I  am  recognising  an  estab- 
lished limit  to  gracefulness  in  the  art  of  skating. 

The  other  phase  of  dignity,  here  to  be  mentioned, 
which  renders  it  incompatible  with  the  serious  prac- 
tice of  any  art,  has  reference  primarily  to  the  art 
itself  and  only  secondarily  to  the  artist  and  his 
particular  performances.  It  is,  indeed,  commonly 
termed  the  dignity  of  art. 


STYLE   AND  THE   PHILOSOPHY         387 

Now,  the  dignity  of  art  is  a  fine  phrase  and  doubt- 
less entirely  praiseworthy  if  by  art  is  meant  every- 
thing that  is  done  or  may  be  done.  But  the  need  of 
such  a  phrase  in  such  a  sense  is  rather  dubious. 
The  "significance  of  existence"  will  probably  do 
quite  as  well. 

But  the  dignity  of  art  generally  means  the  dignity 
of  some  particular  art  or  collection  of  arts.  And  the 
man  who  strenuously  upholds  the  relative  dignity 
of  a  certain  one  amongst  the  arts  cannot  himself 
be  a  serious  votary  of  this  art,  for  he  is  exalting  it 
above  its  own  possibilities  and  is  consequently 
working  it  an  ulterior  injury.  In  the  seventh 
chapter  of  this  work  I  stated  flatly  what  I  believe 
to  be  the  inevitable  inference  from  a  candid  consider- 
ation of  the  modern  world :  to  wit,  that  philosophy 
is  the  prime  need  of  the  day.  But  nothing  could  be 
farther  from  my  intention  than  to  ascribe  to  philoso- 
phy an  enduring  precedence  over  all  other  arts. 
To  try  your  hand  at  working  out   the  quantity, 

VFirst  Principle/ 
is  a  pretty  enough  exercise  and  congenial,  provided 
it  is  needed.     But  for  my  part,  I  should  be  jolly 
well  pleased  if  it  were  not  needed  and  more  time 
could  be  devoted  to  dancing  and  playing  the  flute. 

To  some  readers  it  may  seem  strange  that  I  should 
choose  dignity  for  the  butt  of  this  tirade  when  similar 
arguments  might  be  directed  against  many  other 


388         THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF  CHANGE 

phases  of  thought  and  conduct,  —  for  example, 
frivolity.  One  justification  is  that  an  attack  on 
dignity,  like  the  espousal  of  philosophy,  seems  to  me 
particularly  timely.  In  no  age,  I  believe,  —  at  all 
events  in  the  Western  world,  —  has  a  frivolous  or 
reckless  way  of  living  stood  out  in  so  sharp  contrast 
with  the  general  prudery  of  speech,  gravity  of  de- 
meanour, and  timorous  reserve  of  thought  itself. 
Like  an  undeveloped  Atlas,  too  soft  of  sinew,  we 
stand  upright  with  exceeding  stiffness  under  this 
swollen  civilisation  of  ours,  hoping  thus  to  mask  the 
trembling  of  our  limbs.  We  have  not  even  the 
support  of  a  powerful  religious  Puritanism  which,  in 
its  day,  was  as  conspicuous  as  are  the  follies  of  gilded 
youth  in  the  present  hypochondriacal  age. 

But  the  temporal  justification  is  of  small  im- 
portance in  this  matter.  The  many  attitudes  and 
sophistries  that  have  chosen  to  associate  with  them- 
selves the  name  of  dignity  or  worth  have  been 
common  enough  in  all  ages;  and  the  strongest  ar- 
gument against  them  was  complete  before  this  chap- 
ter was  begun.  It  is  sheer  Tory  chicken-hearted- 
ness  that  makes  me  urge  the  point.  For  I  cannot 
take  up  a  newspaper  without  seeing  the  accounts  of 
decorous  religious  and  temperance  meetings  which 
encourage  underpaid  mill-hands  to  go  on  with  the 
business  of  fattening  the  overfed  rich  and  bringing 
up  children  to  do  likewise.  What  else,  indeed,  can 
our  preachers  and  philanthropists  do?    When  the 


STYLE  AND  THE   PHILOSOPHY         389 

whole  world  is  dinning  into  their  ears  the  supreme 
significance  of  death,  it  is  small  wonder  that  they 
should  insist  on  the  sanctity  of  all  human  lives  and 
the  dignity  of  the  long  and  decorous  ones.  However 
—  lest  I  should  soon  write  myself  down  an  out-and- 
out  Pharisee  in  an  elevated  style,  I  will  close,  with 
a  recommendation  to  the  reader  to  take  another 
look  at  Chapter  VII. 


By  D.  P.  RHODES 

A  Pleasure  Book 
of  Grindelwald 

"A  thoroughly  entertaining  picture  of  the  Bernese  Oberland,  and 
of  all  that  those  wonderful  mountains  and  glaciers  mean  of  life, 
death,  heart-lifting  adventure,  and  healthy  amusement.  .  .  .  He 
treats  his  subject  exhaustively,  and  with  a  common  sense  and  con- 
scientious consideration  of  difficulties  that  are  most  praiseworthy. 
.  .  .  The  chapters  on  the  Grindelwald  in  winter  are  particularly 
agreeable.  The  illustrations  are  unusually  clear  and  beautiful.1' 
—  The  New  York  Tribune. 

"  Mr.  Rhodes1  fascinating  account  of  a  fascinating  place,  while 
appealing  especially  to  lovers  of  the  sport  of  mountain  climbing,  will 
also  interest  all  lovers  of  travel." —  The  Boston  Herald. 

"  First  he  describes  the  village  with  its  quaint  houses  and  its 
curious  and  picturesque  people  and  especially  its  amusing  tourists 
and  their  ways  ;  then  he  takes  his  reader  around  the  town  to  get  his 
bearings  and  to  see  the  houses  and  the  sights  that  are  near  at  hand. 
...  In  successive  chapters  he  takes  us  along  the  chief  walks  and 
to  the  points  of  interest  which  every  visitor  knows,  and  then  goes 
on  to  the  more  difficult  ascents.  The  concluding  chapters  describe 
the  winter  sports  of  Grindelwald,  the  walks,  the  mornings  at  the 
skating  rink,  the  expedition  on  ski,  and  the  toboggan  and  coasting 
parties."  —  The  Cleveland  Leader. 

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MEN  —  BOOKS  —  CITIES  —  ART 

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zest  for  the  joys  of  living.  And  now  and  again,  in  the  infor- 
mality of  his  manner,  he  gives  rein  to  a  whimsicality,  a  wilful- 
ness, a  petulance,  or  an  extravagance  that  lend  to  his  style  a 
pungent  tang  or  a  pleasing  piquancy.  .  .  .  '  Memories  and 
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lover  of  literature,  to  warm  our  hearts  as  one  who  strives  to  be 
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The  Philosophy  of  Common  Sense 

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is  a  fascinating  writer."  —  The  Outlook. 

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By  CARL  HILTY 

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Happiness 

The  New  York  Tunes  voiced  the  sentiment  of  all  the  readers  in 
the  following  comment:  "The  author  makes  his  appeal  not  to 
discussion  but  to  life ;  .  .  .  that  which  draws  readers  to  the 
Bern  professor  is  his  capacity  to  maintain,  in  the  midst  of  im- 
portant duties  of  public  service  and  scientific  activity,  an  unusual 
detachment  of  desire  and  an  interior  quietness  of  mind." 

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The  Steps  of  Life 

Further   Essays  on  Happiness 

Professor  Hilty's  uplifting  essays  long  ago  took  rank  in  Germany 
as  classics  in  their  sphere  —  that  of  personal  culture  in  ethics 
and  religion.  At  rare  intervals  a  man  will  appear  to  whom  it  is 
given  to  see  more  deeply  into  life  than  his  fellows.  Such  a  man 
Carl  Hilty  seems  to  be. 

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By  Rt.  Hon.  LORD  AVEBURY 
Peace  and  Happiness 

"  The  book  is  beautiful  in  its  optimism,  rich  in  its  material ;  in 
it  Lord  Avebury  proffers  no  mean  light."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

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By  NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS 
The  Quest  of  Happiness 

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By  the  author  of"  "  The  Faith  and  Works  of  Christian  Science  " 

Confessio  Medici 

"  Every  page  of  the  book  ...  is  good  reading,  whether  the 
reader  be  doctor  or  patient,  or  neither." — The  Dial. 

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By  EDWARD  A.  ROSS 
Social  Psychology 

"  The  volume  marks  off  for  itself  a  very  definite  field  of  research 
and  scours  the  circumscribed  area  in  the  most  scientific  man 
ner.   .  .   .     Professor  Ross  has  laid  bare  the  more  vital  social 
traits,  good  and  bad,  of  the  human  mind  in  a  manner  calculate 
to  awaken  thought."  —  The  New  York  Tribune. 

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By  JOSIAH  ROYCE 

The  Philosophy  of  Loyalty 

"Professor  Royce's  work  is  immediately  and  concretely  inspii 
ing  to  the  man  not  at  all  concerned  with  the  subtleties  of  meta- 
physical disquisition,  but  very  much  concerned  in  the  affairs  of 
everyday  existence." —  The  Outlook. 

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Race  Questions 

"The   essays  are  in  style  easy  and  compelling,  enlivened  at 
points  with  a  fine  humor  and  very  thoroughly  in  earnest."  — 77 
Boston  Transcript. 

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By  G.  H.  HOWISON 
The  Limits  of  Evolution 

And  other  Essays  illustrating  the  metaphysical  theory  of  person; 

idealism 

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By  HAROLD  HOFFDING  „   - 

The  Problems  of  Philosophy    0  i 

"The  work  to  my  mind  is  so  pregnant  and  its  conclusions  so 
sensible  .  .  .  that  I  have  had  it  translated  as  a  contribution  t 
the  education  of  our  English-reading  students."  —  Extract  fro, 
Preface  by  Prof.  William  James. 

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